


Isolation

by sweetvampire



Category: Silent Witness (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, I mean it's a series about pathologists, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicide Attempt, you would expect at least one (1) corpse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29066643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetvampire/pseuds/sweetvampire
Summary: Talk about the worst possible places to see someone again.When Leo Giles phones the police with shaking hands, the last person he expects to arrive is the guy he hooked up with a couple of weeks ago. While Jack struggles with his conscience and the knowledge that Leo is hiding something, can the Lyell team put the pieces back together before time runs out?
Relationships: Jack Hodgson/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

_17:03, Thursday 18th October._

Leo groaned, fumbling with his keys as he headed up the wet concrete steps. His eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep, and he’d been looking forward to a cup of tea and a quiet room since eleven o’ clock that morning. 

_Is this what getting old feels like?_ he thought, as the key finally clicked into the lock. _Sod going out and getting plastered tonight, all I want is a nap_. 

“Jess?” he called out, shaking the worst of the water out of his hair onto the doormat. “You in?” When there was no answer, he laughed to himself and shook his head. “Typical.”

He hung the wet leather jacket up on a hook and toed off his shoes, padding through to the kitchen in his socks. Now that he’d shut the door, he noticed there was something… off about the flat. Maybe there was something funky going on with the heating; the whole place was freezing. He flipped through his phone and checked the digital thermostat, and sighed. Jess must have set it to cool things down, and then gone out and forgotten about it. Something smelt weird, too, like a joint of meat left out on the side. He put the heating back at its usual temperature and rang Jess while the kettle boiled, wondering where she’d gone. 

It took him a minute to work out where the noise was coming from. 

He could hear his phone, ringing Jess, in one ear - and could hear her ringtone in the other. She’d never changed it from the old-fashioned _brr-brr_ noise set as the default, and it was ringing now from somewhere in the living room. He hung up, left his phone on the worktop, and cautiously went into the living room. The smell was stronger here, like wet metal. The room was a state, too - books ripped off the shelves, the picture of them in Spain on the floor surrounded by broken glass - so he didn’t notice the pool of blood under the settee until he’d almost stepped in it.

Jess was lying sprawled on the sofa, head resting on the arm, eyes closed. Her face and arms were smeared with blood, her neck a raw, wet mess. Leo gritted his teeth and stepped backwards, fighting back the urge to vomit but unable to tear his eyes away from her. His head was spinning, and more than anything he wanted to curl up and hide away somewhere and cry. 

He didn’t do any of those things. He went back into the kitchen and dialled 999 with shaking hands.

“ _Hello, this is the Emergency Services, which service do you require?_ ”

“Police,” he choked out. “My friend’s dead, she’s been attacked.”

_17:48_

“DI Beth Fields.” The woman under the umbrella at the bottom of the steps waved briefly, extending a hand towards them.

“Nikki Alexander, pathologist.” They shook hands briefly; Jack settled for a wave.

“Jack Hodgson, forensics.” He looked up, watching a small swarm of officers in wet hi-vis jackets clustered around a blue front door, two storeys up. “What have we got?”

“Victim is Jess Woodthorpe, aged thirty-one, bank cards and driving licence found in her personal effects at the scene,” the inspector told Jack and Nikki as they made their way up the stairs and into the flat. “Body was found by her flatmate about an hour ago, he’s... pretty messed up about it.”

Nikki looked over the room, taking in the scene: the smashed picture frame, the scattered books, the blood. Jess was lying on the sofa on her back, one arm hanging down to the floor. In death, she looked even paler than she must have in life, her ginger hair a stark contrast against her skin. Her clothes didn’t seem to have been torn up, but her arms and hands had what looked to Nikki like defensive wounds.

“I can see why.”

Jack looked thoughtful. “Can I get a minute with the guy?” 

He looked over at Nikki, who half-shrugged. “Most murders are committed by someone close to the victim, and we’ll probably want his DNA for elimination purposes anyway.”

The inspector nodded. “He’s with one of the officers giving a statement, I think,” she said. “Try the kitchen, if not then they’re in his room.”

Jack glanced across at Nikki. “Back in a sec.”

Nikki was already setting up the flash on her camera. “I’ll make a start.”

Jack made his way back out towards the kitchen, slowly taking in the details of the hallway. A smear of something red caught his eye, and he took a photograph before swabbing the thin red streak on the inside of the door frame. 

_Maybe the killer knocked the frame in a hurry to get away from the scene_ , he thought. _Or maybe someone stumbled, scraped their hand, and that mark is two weeks old._

The front door and hallway didn’t yield much else. The shoes by the door - black Docs, well-worn - were damp, where the rest were dry, and there were wet muddy marks on the doormat. No umbrella, but a black leather jacket, still damp from the afternoon’s rain. No footprints - houseproud type, or maybe he just didn’t want to walk around in wet shoes. 

Jack hesitated, looked back at the water slowly trickling down the jacket’s sleeve. Something was nagging at him - he couldn’t place it, but something about the surroundings looked hauntingly familiar. 

He shook his head. It would come back to him if it needed to. He turned away, heading down towards the bedroom - the only people he’d seen in the kitchen earlier were police officers, standing around and looking awkward. 

Ahead of him, a smartly-dressed young Asian woman stepped out of what was - presumably - the bedroom and shut the door, looking up to meet Jack’s eyes. 

“Detective Hitame Sawyer, you must be Forensics.” She gave Jack a brief, businesslike smile. “He’s pretty pale and shaky, but he seems lucid enough. Just got in from work, no answer when he called out, went into the living room and found her body.”

Jack nodded slowly. It fitted with what he’d seen in the hallway - damp jacket, recent marks on the doormat - but the flatmate could have easily stepped out again and got caught in a shower to cover his tracks. “I’m going to get some samples from him for elimination.”

Detective Sawyer gestured at the closed door. “Be my guest.”

Jack knocked and opened the door without waiting for an answer, the usual preamble he gave to people already lined up in his head, and froze. The young man sat on the edge of the bed, head in his heads, looked up to see who was coming in, and for maybe a second or two there was silence. 

“Jack?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for homophobia/queerphobia and brief violence.

_ Saturday night into Sunday morning, 6th October (two weeks previous). Around 1 am.  _

It wasn’t Jack’s usual Saturday night out - although, to be fair, there weren’t that many Saturday nights out anyway at the moment. He’d only intended to go for a couple of pints with some of the lads from the MMA group, but a couple of pints had turned into going to a third bar and now he was standing in the smoking area at one in the morning, feeling the alcohol singing through his veins, and watching people move. The music wasn’t as loud out here, but there were still a few people dancing by the door with brightly-coloured cocktails in hand. From watching people come and go, it looked like the smoking area was shared between two bars - on the left, where Jack had stepped outside, it looked like mostly people his age, the gaggle of women on a hen night emerging every once in a while to cool down from the dancefloor. On the right, some quote-unquote alternative club, where the clientele ran slightly younger and wore a lot more black and leather.

At the far end of the shared space, there was a metallic clatter as a chair hit the concrete. Jack looked up at the noise, saw three guys crowding one, and crossed half the distance before his brain caught up with his legs. The guy on his own seemed surprisingly calm for someone surrounded by three taller lads, but it seemed like the kind of thing that could get messy pretty quickly. 

As he approached - a little more cautiously now - Jack called out to the group.

“Hey, come on, lads, let’s not start anything stupid.”

One of the group looked over to see him and laughed, turning back to face the guy they had trapped. “Aw, has your boyfriend come to rescue you?” 

His friends either side of him snickered, and he stepped forward, grabbing hold of something on the shorter man’s shirt. 

What happened next happened very fast.

The shorter guy brought a hand across his chest and gripped the hand holding his shirt, and then twisted his whole body, slamming the opposite hand into the back of his assailant’s shoulder. Despite being six inches shorter, he had enough force - and enough speed - to take the taller guy by surprise and force him onto his knees. The offending arm was wrenched straight and pushed high, testing the limits of the joint. 

The other two lads took a couple of steps back as Jack stepped closer, bringing them roughly into line. 

“I don’t need rescuing. And if you carry on like this, what you’re gonna need is an ambulance.”

Shorter guy slowly pushed his would-be attacker’s arm a little higher, just enough to make him yelp.

“Now. My friend here is going to go and find a bouncer” - he looked up at Jack, who took the hint and stepped away, disappearing back into the throng - “and you three are gonna leave.”

One of the two friends took a step forward. The one on the ground gasped and then swore as his arm was pushed closer to the point of dislocation. The friend stepped back again.

“If you’re gone when the bouncer gets here, we haven’t got a problem. If you’re not, we’re going to the police. Three against one, big lads like you? What do you think they’ll say?”

The shorter guy let go of the arm lock and stood up, adopting - although none of the three recognised it - an open-handed form of a sparring stance. 

“I don’t want trouble. Leave me alone.”

The guy on the ground stood up slowly, glaring at his opponent the whole time. Eventually, he shook his head, turning away to his mates.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here before psycho calls the police.”

Jack looked over as the stranger sat down next to him on the bench. “Nicely done.”

The guy smirked. “Thanks. You didn’t find the bouncer then?”   
“Didn’t think you needed him,” Jack said, shrugging. “I got halfway to the door, looked back, and they were already leaving.” 

In the strobing pink-and-blue light spilling from the doorway, he looked properly at the other man for the first time. Dark hair and dark eyes but pale skin, and the shadow of stubble on his jaw. He’d clearly been at the other bar, and apparently the dress code was ‘push the boundaries’ - he was wearing a mesh shirt and a heavy leather chest harness under the black leather jacket. 

The younger man cleared his throat, and Jack became aware that he was staring.

“Not that I mind, but you could at least ask my name.” He leant back, resting his head against the rough brick wall, and tilted his head to watch the other man fail to hide a smile.

“I’m Jack. And you are?”

“Leo.” He raised his eyebrows and added, “And before you say it, no, I’m not that drunk, actually.”

“Me neither, to be honest. I think the last pint is wearing off.” 

It wasn’t entirely true. More likely, Jack thought, it was the hit of adrenaline making him feel more sober than he was. He shifted on the bench, leaning back to watch Leo watching him. “And if I didn’t already mention - very professionally done. Where’d you train?”

“Ten years of taekwondo, the last four as a black belt.” Leo paused then, giving Jack a once-over look that left him a lot warmer than any alcohol could have. “But you - you look more like a grappling man to me. Jiu-Jitsu or MMA?”

“MMA. Only properly since I moved to London, though.” Jack stretched his legs out, bringing himself a little closer to Leo. The younger man didn’t seem to mind; it seemed like he was waiting for Jack to make his move. “Just to put my mind at ease, how old are you?” 

Leo chuckled at that, shaking his head - in surprise, in amusement, Jack couldn’t tell. “I’m older than I look. Twenty-nine, if you must know, which makes me almost a fossil to the bar staff in there.”

He brushed hair away from his eyes absent-mindedly and brought the hand down to rest on his leg, deliberately looking out across the smoking area. Any closer and they’d be touching. 

“And if you’re not that drunk, and neither am I, would you like to go on somewhere?”

Jack waited until Leo met his gaze, and reached out to brush the backs of their fingers together. “I’d like that. You have somewhere in mind?”

“There’s a bar down the road. Bit quieter, relatively cheap - well, cheap for London, anyway.” Leo smirked, and added, “Or we swing by a shop, get a six-pack, and find somewhere more private.”

Jack couldn’t help it; he shook his head and laughed. “Is the part where I say, ‘my place or yours’?” 

Leo shrugged and smiled at him. “Only if you want to.”


	3. Chapter 3

_18:04, Thursday 18th October._

Jack glanced behind him and pulled the door closed, setting his case on the bed. “Leo. Jesus. I’m sorry about this.”

“S’alright. You couldn’t have known,” Leo said. His voice was hoarse from crying, and it made something twist painfully in Jack’s chest. “Have you told her parents?”

Jack shook his head. “We’re processing the scene first, then going there so we might have something to tell them. Open your mouth.”

Leo obliged, pulling a face at the strange dry feeling of the cotton swab. “Don’t know if this breaks the rules or not, but I’d like to come,” he said quietly. “She was my best friend.”

“You’d probably have to ask the DI leading the investigation.” Jack sealed the swab into its plastic tube and scrawled a label on the side before putting it away and getting the next set out. “Why was Jess staying here, by the way? We found a different home address on her driving licence.”

“She’d had an argument with Tom - he’s her boyfriend,” Leo added quickly, while Jack carefully swabbed under his fingernails. “She didn’t want to stay at home after that, said she was going to give him some time to cool off. I offered her the sofa and she’s been here for about a week now.”

Jack nodded, taking the last couple of sets of samples and sealing them up. “What were they arguing about? Do you know?”

The younger man shook his head. “I can guess, but I don’t know for certain. From what she said, he was on one about moving away.”

“And Jess didn’t want to?”  
“Why would she? Her family are in London, her job’s here, her friends are here.” 

Jack looked thoughtful. “Has there been anyone else she’s had that kind of argument with lately?”

“Anyone who might want to hurt her, you mean.” Leo shook his head. “Not that I know of, although I don’t think she’d mind me saying that she had a temper.” He breathed out slowly, one hand pressed against his mouth in a tight fist, willing himself not to break down in tears. 

Jack rested a hand on his upper arm. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “Can’t hug you, I’d contaminate the suit.”

Leo gave him a weak smile. “I know. S’okay. Thank you, though.”

“I’ll speak to the DI,” Jack said, standing up and shutting the metal briefcase as if to leave. Before he did, though, he hesitated. “You’ve still got my number. I can’t talk to you about anything on the investigation, but if you just want to be around someone, you want to talk, call me.”

“Anything?” Nikki asked as Jack knelt down next to her.

“Not much. He mentioned that she’d had an argument with her boyfriend, though, I’ll pass it on to the DI if she doesn’t already know. Where did she work?”

“UCL, something in the Finance department, according to her staff ID card.” Nikki flicked back through the photos she’d taken, checking she had everything she needed. “Think she was killed here?”

“Looks like it. There’s enough of a blood pool, although” - Jack paused, gaze sweeping over the immediate surroundings - “there’s not as much spray as you’d expect, given the wounds on her neck.”

“Maybe those were sustained after death. There’s some bruising around the neck, too.”

“Who slashes the victim’s throat when they’re already dead?”

Nikki shook her head. “Someone so angry they weren’t thinking about it.” She frowned, looking more closely at the young woman’s arm. She was wearing a dark-green blouse, and on her sleeve there was a thin smear of white residue. Jack followed her gaze, and passed her a swab once she’d taken a couple of photographs up close.

“How long has she been dead, do you think?”

“Not that long. Rigor has started to set in around the jaw, so I’d estimate time of death between three and six hours ago.” Nikki carefully placed the camera on the coffee table, out of the way. “Help me to move her.”

Between them, they lifted the body into the open bag on the floor. There had been a few fibres in the wounds, but very little forensic evidence other than whatever they might get from under the victim’s nails. Nikki just hoped the postmortem would be more revealing.

Jack dodged past a couple of uniformed officers and caught the DI outside, leaning against the concrete balcony. “Inspector Fields?”

She turned towards him - the rain had stopped now, the umbrella hanging loosely at her side. “Jack?”

Jack sighed; she didn’t look pleased, and he was already starting to think he shouldn’t have bothered. “While I was taking some DNA samples, the flatmate asked me if he could come with us when we tell her parents.” He peeled his gloves off as he spoke - they were pretty much done, Nikki wanting to head back and crack on with the post-mortem - and scrunched them up to be disposed of later. 

The DI tilted her head to the side, a faint look of surprise crossing her face. “Flatmate?”

“She was staying on his sofa after arguing with her boyfriend, he knew her very well and knows her parents” - Jack broke off and ran a hand through his hair. “To be honest, I think even if he doesn’t come with us he might go there afterwards to see them.”

Fields still didn’t look convinced. “That’s a lot more than I’d expect from someone who was just letting her sleep on the sofa. Were they in a relationship?”  
“I don’t think so?” Jack frowned, shook his head. “He just said she was his best friend.”

Fields turned away from him again, looking out at the buzz of traffic on the streets below. “To be fair, if I found my best friend dead, I’d probably want to be the one telling their parents too. He can ride with you, but he’s not to say anything when I start asking questions, okay?”

“I’ll let him know.” Jack waited until she looked back at him and smiled briefly. “Thank you.”

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That! You trying to charm a favour out of the inspector.” Nikki raised her eyebrows. “So? What did you want?”

Jack sighed, crouching down next to her as she packed away the camera and equipment. “Leo wanted to go with them when they tell Jess’ parents. I spoke to the inspector, she says fine if I go along with him and if he keeps quiet when she starts asking questions. I’ll catch you up at the Lyell in a bit.”

Nikki gave him a quizzical look. “Unusual. You think there’s anything to it?”

Jack briefly shook his head. “He was in bits when they arrived, according to Fields. I think he wants to speak to the parents so he’s not so alone.”

_19:13_

Leo didn’t say much on the drive over, just staring out of the window to watch the streets go by in a wet, grey-black smear. The street lights were coming on as the two cars pulled up outside a semi-detached house, unremarkable but for the immaculate garden. 

Jack leaned forward, squinting at the house through the drizzle. “That’s one way to spend your retirement, I guess.” He looked across at Leo. “You gonna be okay?”

Leo gave him a weak smile and a halfhearted shrug. “I think so. I’ll get back in the car and collapse into a puddle, mind.” He pulled his hood up and got out, walking quickly through the rain to fall in behind the detectives.

Jack swung himself out, striding to catch up, pulling a face as a few drips of cold rain ran off his hair and down the back of his jacket. At least the house had a bit of a porch for shelter. 

Fields rang the doorbell, and looked back at Leo. 

“Sure you want to do this?” she asked. “You don’t have to.”

Leo nodded. “I’m sure.” He took a couple of deep breaths; Jack glanced down and noticed his hands were shaking. The sight made the ache in his chest worse. 

A woman answered the door, tall and pale, red-haired like Jess. “Leo? Are you alright?” She stepped towards him, reaching out to him. “What’s happened?” She looked past him, flinching as if noticing the other three of them for the first time. 

“Where’s Jess?” she said slowly. 

Leo closed his eyes for a second. “Milly, I - I’m so sorry. I came home, there was no answer, I tried to phone her, and” - he broke off, took a couple of breaths, and spoke again. “I found her on my sofa. She’d been attacked.” 

His voice cracked on the last word, and Fields stepped forward to take over.

“I’m Detective Inspector Fields. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Woodthorpe, but your daughter was found dead this afternoon. We think she was murdered.”

Emily Woordthorpe stepped back, wordlessly gesturing for them to come inside. “Richard?”

There was the thud of footsteps on the stairs - too quick, too light to be a grown man. A younger woman - Jack estimated early twenties, probably younger sister - came halfway down, looking at the four of them in confusion. “Mum?” 

Emily - with some effort - steeled herself to reply in her normal voice and not cry. “Go back up, Rosie. I need you to get Richard for me.”

The young woman rolled her eyes, but went back up the stairs. They could hear her calling for Rick, and a couple of minutes later her footsteps upstairs were followed by slower, heavier footfalls. An older, heavyset mixed-race man - not as tall as Milly, wearing glasses, with a smudge of dust on the bridge of his nose - came down the stairs. 

“Milly, what’s going on?”

Only now did the woman allow herself to crumple into her husband’s arms. 

“It’s Jess,” she said, her voice shaking. “Jess is dead.”

Jack looked away as she started to cry, his eye caught by a flicker of movement at the top of the stairs. Rosie was standing on the top step, frozen in shock. She noticed Jack watching her, and turned away, disappearing back onto the first floor. 

Leo followed his gaze and quickly looked away again, but didn’t say anything as DI Fields asked if they could come in, ask some questions and take DNA samples for elimination. 

“We’ve never got on.”

Jack hesitated in the doorway as the two detectives followed Jess’ parents into the kitchen. “Any reason?”

Leo gave a short, frustrated sigh. In a low voice that might have been through gritted teeth, he said, “She thinks I’m a poof. She’s right. I think she’s an arsehole.”

Jack held his tongue; there was something else in there that Leo didn’t want to say, but now was not the time to press it. Instead, he gestured for Leo to go on into the kitchen, and stepped through the door after him. 

The parents were (unsurprisingly, given that they lived a half-hour drive across London) not full of useful information. Jess had been relatively happy in her personal life, stable financially, and hadn’t got into any blazing arguments with either of them or anybody else they knew. 

Jack sent a quick text to Clarissa, standing in the hallway and half-listening to Fields explain what was probably going to happen next. 

_Emily Woodthorpe mentioned that Jess was worried about something at work. Finances dept at UCL. thoughts?_

Her reply came a couple of minutes later, on the way back to the car. _I’ll see what I can find when I’ve got five minutes to spare._

Jack rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. _So never, then?_

_If you’re lucky._

He snorted a laugh and tucked the phone back into his jeans. At least the rain had stopped.

“What’s the deal with you and Rosie, then?” he asked later, starting the car and pulling away behind the detectives to head back to the Lyell. 

Leo sighed. “Like I said, she thinks I’m a poof. She’s right, but she also thinks that somehow that means I’m doing her sister wrong. I know Jess and Rosie used to be close when they were kids and they drifted apart, but what that has to do with me being queer, I don’t know.” 

Jack made a noise in the back of his throat as a blue hatchback cut him off. “Did her parents care?”

“I went to Milly and Rick’s ceremony as Jess’ plus-one, I don’t think they ever cared. Never met the dad, but he seemed like a piece of work.” Leo ran a hand through his hair, not sure how to ask the questions burning on his tongue. “Jack?”

“Yeah?”  
“What happens now?”

“What do you mean?”  
“I mean - it’s shit-awful bad luck that the way we see each other again is my best friend getting murdered. What happens to my flat? What happens to me? How the hell do I explain this to my boss?” He hesitated, and then added, “What happens between us?”

Jack ran a hand over the side of his face and flipped on the indicator, pulling up on the side of the street behind a battered blue van. 

“Okay.” He started counting things off on his fingers, still not meeting Leo’s gaze. “Taking those slowly - your flat is yours, you should have been given a number by the detective that took your statement, ring that and they’ll either sort cleaning for you or they’ll give you a signed statement you take to another company. That won’t go through for a while though, in case we need to go back. You don’t have to stay there tonight, or for a while - stay in a cheap hotel for a few nights, or stay with a friend if you can. If the detectives have anything further they want to ask you, they’ll call round. Explaining it to your boss - that one I’ve no idea, but there’s probably a HR person you can talk to and they’ll talk to your manager if necessary. Either way, take some time off.”

He paused then, and rubbed his eyes. 

“As to what happens between us…” He spread his hands in a loose shrug. “Up to you. You’ve still got my number, and I - I want to be there. If I can. Like I said before, can’t talk about the investigation, but I still want to see you.”

“So if I were to ask you to hold me, you’d be okay with that.” Leo sounded - at least to Jack - like someone who had lost so much hope he was scared to ask for anything more.

He didn’t answer. Not as such. He leaned over the handbrake and gently pulled Leo into his arms, one hand coming up to gently stroke his hair. 

“Come on," he said quietly "Let’s find you somewhere to go for the night.”


	4. Chapter 4

_08:52, Monday 8th October._

“You’re chirpy this morning,” Clarissa said by way of greeting as Jack sat down at his desk and flipped through his phone for the calendar. It was Monday morning; the skies were blue, the sun was shining, and according to the forecast it’d be the last time this week.

Jack raised his eyebrows and looked up at her over his screen. “Good morning to you too.”

“Now, see, in the normal run of things you’d have made some snarky comment about how you’re not always the personification of irritated, I would have said you were proving my point, and normal service would resume from there.” Clarissa rolled around to his side of the desks. “Did someone get lucky on the weekend, by any chance?”

Jack resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her. “And if - if! - I did, that is any of your business how, exactly?”

Clarissa chuckled. “That’s a yes, then. Let me guess. Hot night in the club, music pounding, you meet her eyes across the dancefloor…”

Jack snorted with laughter. “One out of three - one out of four! You’re losing your touch.”

“Oh?”

“Music definitely pounding, but it wasn’t that warm and I didn’t meet his eyes across the dancefloor. He was getting some unwelcome attention–”

“–so you were a knight in shining armour, or at least a leather jacket,” Clarissa finished. 

Jack shook his head. “Nah. He didn’t need my help. I didn’t even have time to get the bouncer.”

“And, naturally, you were smitten.”

“Smitten?” Jack made an attempt to look insulted. “Definitely not a teenage girl, last time I checked.”

His phone vibrated on the desk, and he glanced down at the screen.

_Hope you’re pleased w yourself. NONE of my shirt collars hide this bite mark! x_

He smirked and went to send a reply, remembering far too late that Clarissa was next to him and had no doubt seen the text. He didn’t blush - not quite - but there was a definite pink tinge to his neck and ears as he jammed the phone back into his jeans. 

“What was that about not being a teenage girl?”

“Shut up.”

“I would say ‘make me’, but you seem to be sorting that kind of thing for someone else.” Clarissa winked at him, and then turned away, rolling back to her own desk. “Morning, Nikki.”

“Morning,” Nikki said, watching them both as she crossed the office. When no apparent explanation was forthcoming, she smiled and asked, “Alright, what’s going on?”

Jack answered first, not looking up from his computer screen. “Petty gossip, and Clarissa being nosy.”

Clarissa was still smirking. “Jack has a boyfriend.”

“Oh, please.” Jack looked up now at both of them and did his best to look irritated. “I hooked up with someone on Saturday night. Clarissa just wants to take the piss.”

“Hookup on Saturday night who’s texting you on Monday morning?” Clarissa shot back.

Nikki laughed. “You’re acting like teenagers. Both of you!”

“Don’t you want to know?”

“Obviously.” She followed Clarissa to stand by Jack’s desk. 

Clarissa raised her eyebrows. “Go on. Show her.”

Jack made a show of rolling his eyes and getting his phone out, putting it on the desk to let them both see the text. “Happy?”  
“Very. I’ve got ammunition for days,” Clarissa announced as Thomas walked in.

“Morning.” He watched the three of them for a second, moving to join the group - noting that Jack looked mildly frustrated, and Nikki and Clarissa were sharing conspiratorial smirks. “Have I missed something?”

“No,” Nikki said, just a little too quickly. “Workplace gossip.”

“I see.” He raised his eyebrows. “If you could try to be a little more discreet, it would be appreciated.”

“Sorry, boss,” Clarissa said, managing to convey her amusement - and no sorrow whatsoever - perfectly.

Thomas smiled. “Oh, I was talking to Jack.” He watched as Jack’s jaw dropped, and added, “Carry on. Don’t mind me.”

With a heroic effort, Jack didn’t swear until Thomas had left the room. “That - what the _fuck_?”

“Now, now,” Nikki said, already walking back to her desk. “Try to be professional and save the passion for your boyfriend.”

Jack groaned, folded his arms and rested his head on the desk. It was going to be a long day.


	5. Chapter 5

_19:28, Thursday 18th October._

“Victim is Jess Woodthorpe; Caucasian female, aged thirty-one.” Thomas circled around the top of the mortuary table as he spoke, looking for anything out of place. “Some cuts and bruises are present on her hands and arms, most minor, likely defensive when she was attacked.”

With a pair of tweezers, Nikki carefully extracted a small piece of glass from the skin on the victim’s knuckles. Another fragment was found in a gash on her arm, and there had been several small fragments in her hair, most likely from lying on glass that had already been broken - there were no significant scalp wounds as would be expected from breaking a glass, or a picture frame, on her head. There had been some fine black fibres stuck in the wounds - Jess wasn’t wearing anything black, just a dark grey skirt and a short-sleeved green blouse - so she set these aside for microscope and spectroscopic study. 

“Time of death from body temperature and onset of rigor at the scene was estimated to be around midday, Thursday 18th October.”

Nikki paused, crossed to the other side of the mortuary slab and lifted the right hand, taking over the narration of the post-mortem.

“From lividity, the body was not moved from its position on the sofa after death; blood has collected in the fingertips of the right hand, where this arm hung down. There are traces of skin under the victim’s nails, again suggestive of a struggle shortly before death. These were sampled at the scene, so DNA testing should allow identification of her assailant.”

Thomas set the recorder down, and carefully started cutting away the victim’s clothing, starting from the skirt and working up; Nikki took another set of photographs and scraped some samples from under the nails. 

Thomas paused, and frowned, before picking up the recorder again. 

“Victim’s underwear is absent.”

Nikki looked up, thoughtful. “Could have been removed by the killer after death, possibly as a trophy.”

Thomas tilted his head and nodded, but he didn’t look entirely convinced. 

“However, there is no immediate evidence to suggest vaginal trauma or rape, suggesting that this may have been done to confuse post-mortem analysis. A closer inspection will be needed to confirm.”

He continued cutting away the clothing on the victim’s upper body, noting the white residue on the right arm of the blouse - he paused here, taking a couple of photos before Nikki took additional swabs. 

When he had cut away the blouse and bagged it, Nikki took over the recording. “Cause of death was presumed at the scene to be the large, horizontal wound to the neck; the edges are uneven, suggesting the skin was not under tension when the wound was inflicted. However, there is a second injury - a narrow stab wound just below the sternum.”

From the amount of blood staining the victim’s clothing, it would have been hard to see the second wound at the scene. There were bruises around the edge of the wound, suggesting the hilt of the weapon had impacted the body. It was the injuries to Jess’s neck that made Nikki shudder, though. Pulling the head back was the norm for an inexperienced killer, largely because it was the kind of thing that was ubiquitous in violent films. Uneven edges suggested someone who knew it wasn’t necessary. 

“Blood samples have been sent for toxicology analysis, victim’s fingerprints and DNA samples taken for elimination purposes. Stomach contents will be removed for later analysis and possibly further narrowing time of death.”

Nikki stepped back as Thomas made the incisions, opening up the chest cavity. “Victim appears to have been previously healthy, some evidence of historic smoking.” That part of the examination did not, unfortunately, yield much in the way of useful information, but neither of them had really expected it to. Nikki removed the stomach contents for later study, to look at confirming time of death, and briefly ran over the mental checklist of a post-mortem exam. Standard analyses had all been carried out, but she didn’t feel any closer to understanding the brutal death of the young woman than she had when they’d started. 

_19:53_

While Nikki and Thomas finished up with the post-mortem (from what she’d overheard, nothing so far had been particularly illuminating), Clarissa had started going through Jessica’s phone. The personal emails were all relatively normal - nothing particularly special apart from a frankly absurd amount of hotel chain spam messages - but the work email had some interesting communication chains. 

“Anything?” Nikki asked, de-scrubbed but still untying her hair as she walked in. 

“Personal email is pretty normal, lots of automated content from online shopping, auto-replies from tickets to events, that sort of thing,” Clarissa said, not turning round. “Work email, however, has something a bit out of the ordinary. This is from a couple of days ago.”

Nikki leaned over her shoulder, skimming through. 

_Hi Jessica,_

_I know you’ve been looking into this - would be good to meet and discuss in person. I totally agree that something isn’t right here, but I don’t know that this is the best way to handle it - I’ve spoken to Mark and he’s asked to have an informal chat and find out what you think. Let me know what time is good tomorrow/Wednesday._

_Liz_

“Sounds like Jess wasn’t getting on with what Liz wanted from her.”

“I’m pretty sure Liz is her line manager,” Clarissa said by way of explanation as Nikki sat down across from her, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know if this is linked to what’s happened, but I would be interested to know what they were talking about.”

“Where’s Jack got to?” Nikki asked, idly flicking through some of the photographs taken at the scene - there wasn’t much they could do right now, toxicology and DNA wouldn’t be back until the morning at the earliest. 

“Still out with DI Fields, I think.” Clarissa looked down as her phone buzzed with a text. “Speak of the devil - apparently the victim’s mother mentioned that Jess was worried about something at work.”

“Which might be what that email relates to.”

“Or it might be something else entirely.” Clarissa tapped out a reply, chuckled at Jack’s despondent response, and sent a brief _if you’re lucky_. “Either way, I’m not going to be able to do much with it this evening. I can’t see UCL’s finance department working to anything other than strict nine-to-five.”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” Nikki muttered, writing some notes on a post-it for tomorrow.

_20:41_

Neither of them said much on the drive back. Leo put the radio on, mostly for background noise, pulling a face at it when the news mentioned something about further cuts to education and NHS budgets. It was half-eight by the time Jack pulled up outside his flat, and the rain had returned, heavy enough to rattle on the windows and the roof. 

“Do you want me to come up with you?” Jack asked. 

Leo didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Maybe.”

Jack reached over, resting his hand on top of Leo’s for a moment. Leo looked out at the rain and sighed, got out and started running. Jack waited until he was halfway up the steps before following, locking the car behind him and wishing he had a coat with a hood. 

Inside, with the door closed, the smell was still there - raw meat and the metallic tang of blood. The blue and white tape over the entrance to the living room was still there, too, although one of the ends had come loose; one strand hung limply to the floor. 

Leo couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. Jack thought about trying to move him, and opted instead to simply stand in front of him and block his view. 

“Don’t go in the living room, shut your eyes if you have to.” He put one arm around Leo’s shoulders and guided him down the hall, away from the living room and into the bedroom. 

Leo seemed to snap out of his haze a bit at that; the familiar surroundings might have helped, or maybe it was having someone else moving around in his space. Back in WiFi, he ran a quick search for nearby hotels, and threw some clothes together while the pages loaded. Jack leaned against the doorframe, not entirely sure what to do with himself. 

“Can you grab my toothbrush out of the bathroom?” Leo asked, head emerging from the wardrobe. “Mine’s the green one.”

“Sure.” Jack turned, took a second to remember which door was the bathroom and not the boiler, and ducked inside. The room was pretty cramped; there was a bathtub with a shower head, but it took up about a third of the room. It was surprisingly well-kept, though, for a single guy living alone; almost suspiciously so. Jack looked around, listened to make sure Leo wasn’t standing outside the door, and did a brief sweep of the room. He couldn’t take anything - no gloves - so he covered his hand with the sleeve of a rubber glove hanging over one of the towel rails. He tried not to think too much about what Leo would say if he came through and found Jack poking through his stuff, or what the action said about himself.

The cleaning stuff in the bathroom was tucked down between the toilet and the wall; two bottles of bleach, one unopened, and a spray bottle of bathroom cleaner with a green cloth draped over the top. None of it looked like it had recently been disturbed. The cupboard over the sink didn’t yield much either: shaving gel, razors, spare things of shower gel and hair product. There were two dark-blue metal canisters Jack didn’t recognise; they looked like small shaving foam cans. He squinted at the brand name, and frowned. 

What was Leo doing with hair loss foam at twenty-nine?

He mentally filed that for a Google search later, grabbed the toothbrush and toothpaste, and went back into the bedroom. 

Leo looked up, and gave him a slightly awkward smile. “Thanks.” He stood up and grabbed his laptop off the desk, tucking that into the messenger bag behind his clothes. “God, I feel stupid doing this.”

Jack didn’t reply to that. “What are you going to do for the rest of this evening?”

“Order sushi, watch a film, fall asleep. Not necessarily in that order.” 

Leo ran a hand through his hair, looking around the room, and Jack realised that his eyes were glassy with tears. 

“You know what the bitch of it all is? I had tomorrow off. We were going to go and do all the stupid tourist things you never do when you live in a city. Cross ‘em off the list before I turned thirty, and get smashed without caring about going to work with a hangover.”

Jack crossed the room in two strides before his brain had caught up, pulling Leo into a hug. 

“Jesus. That is - fuck, Leo, I’m so sorry.”

Leo had started to cry now, shoulders shaking as he tried to stay quiet. 

“Are there friends you can call?” Jack sighed and tried to think straight. “Talk to somebody. I don’t care who. I don’t think you should be on your own, but I can’t be here as much as I want to be.”

Leo seemed to tense at that, gently disengaging Jack’s arms and giving him a tight smile through his tears. “No. I know. Conflict of interest, right?”

Jack nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Leo slung the bag over his shoulder. “Maybe when this is over, we can get that takeaway we talked about.”

“Yeah.” Jack glanced out of the window, past his reflection into the grey evening rain. “At least let me give you a lift to the hotel, it’s pissing it down outside.”

_21:18_

“Okay, so that’s the double room, number 309, so third floor and you’re on the right-hand side.” The receptionist gave the young man a cheery smile. “Anything else I can help you with, sir?”  
The guy didn’t seem very with it - he’d been stuttering a lot, stumbling over his words. Didn’t look drunk though, surprisingly. Must have had a long day.

“Uh, dumb question” - he gave a weak, self-conscious chuckle - “can I order a takeaway here?”  
The receptionist nodded. “You’ll have to come down and collect it, but I can ring through to your room and let you know when it arrives.”

“Thank you.” He wandered off towards the lifts, head down. 

At least he’d remembered to say thank you, she thought, turning back to her computer screen to see how many other guests were checking in tonight. She felt sorry for him briefly, in the way one might feel sorry for a dog tied up outside a shop while it’s raining. Then a family of four barged in and headed for the check-in desk, and her thoughts about the tired young man slid away like water off a car windscreen. 

In the hotel room - once he’d locked the door and put the room key somewhere obvious - Leo sat cross-legged at the end of the bed. He wasn’t particularly fussed about the room - most of the decor was pretty bland and inoffensive - but the pristine white sheets just made him think of hospitals and funeral shrouds. The faint tang of bleach from the bathroom didn’t help.

He’d taken a knife out of the bag, and now he was sat with it loosely held in his right hand. The fingers of the left idly traced along the flat of the blade, up and down, up and down.

He closed his eyes. 


	6. Chapter 6

_09:38, Friday 19th October._

“So. What do we know about our victim?” DI Fields asked, tapping a pen against her file. 

Nikki started. “Jess Woodthorpe, thirty-one years old. From the post-mortem, we noted some minor defensive wounds, and fragments of glass in her hair and scalp indicate that she was lying in broken glass shortly before she died.”

“Cause of death?”

“There are two serious wounds; the cutting of her throat, and a second, smaller injury - a stab wound - just below the sternum. Either could have been the cause of death, without more detailed analyses it’s very difficult to say.”

“Anything on that white residue you found at the scene, on her arm?”

Jack shook his head. “We’ve got some samples and we’ve sent off for a toxicology screen, but realistically we’re not going to get anything before the end of the day, more likely tomorrow morning.”

Fields nodded thoughtfully. “What do we know about her life? Where did she work? Was there anyone with a grudge against her?”

Clarissa took over from there.“Worked at UCL in their finance department. Her mother mentioned when she spoke to you last night that Jess had been worried about something at work. I haven’t had much time to look into this - it only came through last night - but I’m speaking to her line manager later today.”

She paused, and pulled something up on the screen - a screengrab of the UCL website, a staff page listing names and job titles. _Jessica Woodthorpe, Research Partners_ was highlighted. 

“Jess worked in a subsection of Finance that managed research funding, particularly corporate partnerships and donations.”

“There was something dodgy going on, Jess finds out, threatens to take it higher?” Jack asked. 

Clarissa shrugged. “Maybe - there’s some stuff in her emails and some notes on her phone that suggest something unusual going on. It’ll take a lot of digging to prove anything, though, and the university is unlikely to be forthcoming with information.”

“What about the boyfriend?” Nikki asked. “According to Leo, they’d been arguing, that’s why she was staying with him.”

“We’re speaking to him later, Sawyer’s looking into him at the moment.” Fields looked thoughtful. “What do we know about him, come to that?”

“Twenty-nine, also works for UCL as an administration officer in student records. He and Jess started together around five years ago.”

Jack wrinkled his nose. He could already tell where Fields wanted to go with this, and he didn’t like it. 

“We didn’t find any trace of him on Jess’ clothes or on her body. More to the point - he called it in.”

“Could be misdirection.” Fields looked about to say something else, but was distracted by her phone buzzing with a text.

_Tom Blake works as a gym instructor, sending over address. I can pick you up from the Lyell._

“Right.” She stood up and grabbed her coat from the back of her chair. “Sawyer’s found where the boyfriend works, so we’re going across to speak to him. Let me know if anything significant comes through.” 

_10:21  
_

Sawyer pulled up in a car park opposite the tall, grey building with white and teal window stickers that proclaimed it to be a PureGym. “You okay?”

Fields nodded, making no move to get out of the car. “What do you make of their Forensics guy?”

Sawyer looked out at the gym. “I’ve worked with the Lyell on a couple of other cases - tricky cases - and they’ve always supported us. Hodgson and Mullery are both pretty new, but they’ve both been good to work with in the time I’ve known them. They don’t give you what they can’t prove.”

She glanced back at the DI, who studiously avoided her gaze by taking out her notebook and writing down their approximate location, time and date. “Why?”

“Hodgson was very quick to discount the flatmate as a suspect.”

“Too quick?”  
“I don’t know.” Fields shook her head, and got her things together to get out of the car. “I just don’t like it when someone else tries to make a judgement about my case.” 

The receptionist - skinny, dark-haired, nonchalant - looked up from her screen as they approached. 

“Can I help you?”

Sawyer held up her ID. “We’re looking for a Thomas Blake, I believe he works here?”

The receptionist blinked in surprise. “He’s running a class at the moment, but he’ll be done at half past. I can go and get him if you want to take a seat.”

They sat in the little waiting area on an uncomfortable teal sofa, watching people come and go. They weren’t waiting long - the receptionist came back, followed by a tall man in his mid-thirties; broad-shouldered and well-built, with dark brown hair. 

He watched them as they watched him. “Can I help you?”

“Please take a seat.” DI Fields held up a photo. “Do you recognise this woman?”  
He took the photo, stared at it, frowned. “It’s Jess,” he said after a long pause. “Why do you have a photo of my girlfriend? What’s going on?”

“Mr Blake, when was the last time you saw Jessica?”

“About a week ago. We’ve been on a break so she’s been staying at a friend’s place.” He looked from one to the other, horror slowly dawning in his eyes. “Is she okay?”

Fields sighed. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Jessica is dead. We think she was murdered. Can you tell us where you were yesterday?”

“Jesus, you don’t think I had–”

“Just answer the question please, sir.”

Tom took a couple of deep breaths. “I was here. I was at work yesterday, I run spin classes.”

“Thank you.” Sawyer made a note of it. “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm Jess? Had she got in an argument with anyone recently?”

“Like I said - we were on a break, we weren’t speaking much. I know she was worried about something going on at work, she didn’t tell me the details but she said she’d had a couple of meetings with her line manager.” 

Tom leaned forward and lowered his voice slightly. “The guy she was staying with - I didn’t know him all that well, but he seemed like he was hiding something. I don’t know what it was, but I think Jess found out. Like, we’ve not seen each other face-to-face, but we’ve been texting, and she told me a couple of days ago they’d argued.”

Fields and Sawyer looked at each other; Sawyer kept taking notes.

“What time was this?” Fields asked. 

“Monday night, but this was at, what, two AM - so I didn’t see it until the Tuesday morning.” Tom shrugged, looking - despite his impressive build - profoundly helpless. “When I asked her about it, she said they’d sorted it out and it wasn’t any of my business. So I didn’t ask.”

Sawyer nodded, and gave Tom a little business card with a phone number. “We might come back and ask you a few more questions. If you think of anything else that seems important, ring that number and let me know.”

“What do you think happened?” Sawyer asked, pulling out of the car park. 

Fields didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. “I think the flatmate knows more than he was letting on. He didn’t make any mention of an argument with Jess, certainly not two days before she died.”

“And Hodgson?”

“He’s already made his mind up that it can’t have been the flatmate. I’d feel a lot happier about that conclusion with some evidence to back it up. Are they looking through the CCTV?”

_10:37  
_

“You know, one of these days I’m going to get Max to write a program that does this for me.”

Jack looked up as Clarissa paused the CCTV footage from a camera looking along the front of the flats and rolled towards him. 

“You getting anywhere with the residue from her sleeve?”

Jack shook his head. “Don’t know yet, it’s still running through the analyser. Do you want to swap and do a second one to confirm?”

Clarissa shrugged. “Sure. So far, all I’ve got is Leo leaving at quarter past eight, when he said he did, the postman coming at ten to nine, and Leo getting back at five - so he was telling the truth about that.”

Jack frowned. “Didn’t Nikki say time of death was around midday?”

“Yep. Which I think means there’s another way in that we can’t see.”

“I’ll give it a look. Might head back later, look for signs of forced entry on the other side of the flat.”

Clarissa gave him a strange look as he started flipping through the CCTV footage. “Are you alright?”

Jack looked up, trying to act as if he had no idea why she’d be asking. “Yeah, I’m fine. Didn’t sleep well.”

Clarissa smirked. “Someone on your mind?” she asked teasingly as she headed over to finish the analysis. 

“Nope, not a teenager any more,” Jack said, rolling his eyes and returning his attention to the grainy film on his screen.

_11:08_

Jack patiently spooled forward through the footage, past Leo leaving, past the postman - nothing much there - until something gave him pause. He leaned back, thoughtful, turning to call in Clarissa’s general direction. 

“Did you look through everything, or just specific times?”

Clarissa didn’t answer for a couple of minutes, ignoring his question in favour of finishing the analysis he’d interrupted. 

“I looked first to see if Leo had been honest about when he left and came back - he had - and then jumped forward to Nikki’s estimate for time of death. Why?” she asked, coming over from the other side of the lab. 

“Two figures in hoods, they turn up and go inside just after nine - Jess must have let them in.” Jack rewound slightly, squinted at the image, and nodded. “You can’t see her well, but I think that’s Jess on the edge of the frame behind the door.”

Clarissa looked over his shoulder. “Any idea who they are?”

“Difficult to get anything. They’re both wearing dark-coloured hooded jackets, but it was raining, so they’re not out of place and there’s nothing really there for a description.”

“Okay, but if we see them leaving after midday, that puts them at the scene around the time Jess was killed.” 

Jack shook his head. “That’s the problem. They don’t.”

He skipped forwards, to just before half-past ten, and he and Clarissa watched as the two hooded figures emerged, heads down - there might have been a flicker of pale skin, or it might have been a white shirt, it was impossible to tell.

“Even if they’re not involved, they’re the only people we see enter or leave between Leo going out and coming back.”

“Unless there’s another way in,” Clarissa pointed out, rolling away to check on the mass analyser as it beeped. “Better let DI Fields know.”

Jack groaned. “She’s not going to like this. She’s already made up her mind who’s involved, even if she can’t prove it.”

“Oh, and I’m sure that deeply offends your professional ethics, because you’d never do something like that,” Clarissa said, amusing herself watching Jack’s reaction to her sarcasm.

“Yeah, okay, difference is I’m usually right.”

“M-hm. Keep telling yourself that, and then if you are right you can bask in the warm glow of satisfaction when Fields has to tell you as much.”

Jack - with an effort - didn’t rise to the bait this time. “How’s our mass spec analysis of that residue coming along?”

“First set of spectra are currently uploading, second sample just gone in.” Clarissa gave him a careful, searching look. “What’s happened, Jack?”

Jack slumped back into the chair and sighed. “Okay, I need you to not tell Thomas this, and you’re not going to like it either.”

That had Clarissa starting to worry. Up until now, she’d assumed Jack had just been stressed about something outside work - an argument with a date, maybe - but asking her to keep something secret from Thomas wasn’t a good sign. 

“It’s not just about professional ethics - although it is - or that Fields is so desperate for a suspect she’s ignoring the evidence - which she has.” Jack ran a hand through his hair, not sure how to say what came next. “It’s that - I know he’s being set up. Because I know _him_.” 

Clarissa sighed. “When you’re saying you know him… that’s not just ‘someone I know from MMA’, is it?”

Jack shook his head; part of him almost wanted to laugh. “And Nikki reckons _she’s_ been unlucky with men.”


	7. Chapter 7

_13:31_

Thomas glanced down at the business card he’d picked up while waiting for the secretary, just to make sure he was in the right place - it wouldn’t exactly help if he somehow had the wrong name. The neat white card read _Mark Webberly, Head of Finance. Office E104, int. tel. 8519, email mark.webberly@ucl.ac.uk._ Thomas allowed himself a brief sigh - somehow, this never got easier - and knocked on the door. “Mr Webberly?”

“Ah, Professor Chamberlain - please, come in.” The steel-haired man who answered gestured for Thomas to enter, and sat himself down on one of the two living chairs by the window. “Have a seat. Maisie told me you were on your way. Now - what can I do for you?”

Thomas sat down across from him. “I’m wondering if you can help me. The Lyell is currently investigating the death of one of your employees.”

“Jess Woodthorpe,” Mark said, his jovial persona fading. “I think the whole department is still in shock, to be honest. We’re a pretty small team, and it’s really... it's knocked everyone back a bit.”

He took a breath, looked out of the window for a moment, and then composed himself, returning his attention to Thomas. “What can we do?”

“From speaking to her parents, and from some of her work emails, there’s indications that she was involved in some kind of conflict at work.”

Mark looked puzzled for a second or two, and then gradually the puzzlement was replaced by a combination of fear and anger. Thomas recognised the look. It was not a pleasant one.

“I don’t say that lightly - but I don’t know that it’s related to what has happened. It may not be. But I can’t rule it out unless I know what it is.”

Mark still didn’t look happy, and gave a short, irritated sigh before responding.

“Jess managed corporate donations from some of our bigger clients - partnering for research funding, that sort of thing. The parent company of certain high-profile hotel chains that will remain nameless had agreed on a payment schedule, how that funding would be used, and some limited areas of collaboration with our School of Management.” He stood up, grabbed a laptop off the desk, and turned it to show Thomas the screen. “Jess had been chasing them for the last couple of weeks now, because they hadn’t paid the full amount and they hadn’t paid it when the contract stated they would.”

“So the emails on her work account–” Thomas began.

“–are Jess talking to Liz, her line manager, and Liz bringing that to me.” Mark closed the laptop and set it down on a coffee table to his left. “I had a conversation with Jessica and Liz on Tuesday; Jess was very much in favour of publicly shaming the parent company, particularly after they posted their profits for this last quarter. Liz was more inclined to speak to senior representatives and come to an arrangement, and I have to say I thought the same.”

Thomas looked thoughtful. “And how did Jess respond to that?”

“She was frustrated, understandably. But by the end of that meeting, we had agreed a plan for going forward, and she understood why Liz and I didn’t think a public callout was the right choice. It might have worked in the short term, but it would have made us look argumentative, even combative, as an institution, which isn’t the image we want to project to the world.”

“Or to any future research partners?” Thomas said, keeping his voice light. 

Mark snorted a brief laugh. “Exactly. We need to play nice with corporations for now so that we can play hardball if we really need to in the future.”

He stood up to show Thomas out, and added, “If it’s at all possible, I’d rather this wasn’t made public. It’s hardly in the public interest to drag out a corporation for not paying a research institute on time when a young woman is dead.”

Thomas nodded and smiled politely, but as soon he’d left the room the smile dropped. “Not in the public interest? Not in the interest of your department, more like,” he muttered under his breath, and headed for the lift. 

Still. That appeared to be that, for now. If something had been worked out, then those lines of inquiry could be set aside - it turned on who could be placed at the scene more than anything else. He headed down the stairs, hoping someone else on the team might have had a more productive morning. 

_11:30, Saturday 20th October._

Beth Fields arrived with what Jack was beginning to think of as her characteristic lack of grace, crashing through the doors of the Lyell with Sergeant Sawyer in tow. 

“Right. What have you got for me?” she asked, breezing into the conference room. 

“We’ve got a result from the analysis of that white residue on Jessica’s sleeve,” Clarissa said, once things had settled down again. “It’s a compound called minoxidil - relatively simple molecule, used as an antihypertensive and in hair-loss foams.”

Jack had seen the results before Fields arrived, and had been thinking about what they might mean for about as long. Once the first set of results had come back with a spectral analysis and some suggested common compounds, he’d excused himself for five minutes to go and grab a coffee. In the momentary quiet afforded by the tiny office kitchen, he flipped through his phone, looking up a couple of things on Google - _regaine_ , _ftm_ , _trans minoxidil_ , and similar - and sighed quietly. If he’d closed his eyes and muttered a few swearwords under his breath, well, nobody had been around to hear. 

“Okay, so we go back to the scene, look for this minoxidil stuff - we’d be looking for what, Regaine? something like that? - and if there’s a bottle of it in the bathroom, we bring the flatmate in for questioning.”

Jack opened his mouth to try and counter, but Nikki got in there first. 

“Hold on a minute - why the sudden focus on the flatmate?”

“According to the victim’s boyfriend, they’d had an argument two days before she died.” Fields watched their reactions, apparently taking some satisfaction in knowing something they didn’t. “He made no mention of this in any statement to the police or anyone on the scene.”

“Maybe the boyfriend is exaggerating,” Jack pointed out. “He wasn’t speaking to Jess at the time, and Leo said that she argued with him - that’s why she was staying in his flat to begin with.”

Fields tilted her head in acknowledgement. “Could be that Tom is exaggerating. But if we find a source of minoxidil in the flat, we can work from there.”

They contacted Leo to let him know, partly as a courtesy and partly so that someone would turn up with the keys. He let them in and stood in the kitchen with a mug of tea, warming his hands and keeping as much out of the way as possible. A couple of the more junior forensic analysts worked around him, looking in cupboards and occasionally asking him to move so they could photograph something. 

Jack avoided both kitchen and bathroom altogether, focusing instead on Leo’s bedroom. It felt only marginally less uncomfortable than any other room in the house. Although it had faded, the living room hadn’t been cleaned yet and the air was still thick with the metallic smell of blood. The hallway was so narrow it felt stupid to have more than one person there at once. The kitchen would have been intolerable, with Leo so close and in so much pain and Jack’s hands tied by the job. As for the bathroom - well. Jack had privately made the decision that, if they were about to leave without finding the hair loss foams in the cabinet, he would go in, do his own sweep of the room and ‘find’ the cans. He didn’t believe for a moment that Leo had any part in Jessica’s death - or at least he kept telling himself that - but _not_ finding the canisters would feel like suppressing evidence. 

_Evidence that you should not know exists, because if you hadn’t been nosy and swept his bathroom when he’d asked for your help we wouldn’t be here_ , a little voice in the back of his mind said quietly.

He ignored it. At least if he was sweeping the bedroom, nobody else had to go through anything private. 

There was a sudden rush of movement as someone called through from the bathroom - they’d found something. Jack closed his eyes for a second, weighed down by the slow, creeping fear that maybe - just maybe - he’d been wrong about Leo. 

The clatter and noise of the forensics team increased, and he stood up. The call of the work. He waited until after Fields had arrested Leo and read him his rights before he left; it meant he could avoid Leo’s eyes and the questions they asked, the confusion and hurt and bitter anger - or worse, resignation. 

He went with Sawyer to the station and texted Nikki to meet him there, asking her to do the second round of forensic samples with him. Neither he nor Sawyer said much on the drive over. 


	8. Chapter 8

_ 14:24, Saturday 20th October.  _

“And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”

Leo stared back at the detective, completely dead-eyed. “You didn’t ask.”

“We asked if she’d had any sort of fight or conflicts in the days leading up to her death!”

“No, you didn’t.” Leo’s expression still hadn’t changed from the cold, dead-eyed stare. “You asked if I knew if there was anyone who would want to hurt her. I told you the truth. Not that I knew of. You did not ask if I’d had a stupid, drunk argument with my best friend that we resolved in a coffee shop at two-thirty AM.”

“What was the argument about?”

Leo’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “No comment.”

DI Fields exhaled loudly and switched tack. “Alright. We found a white residue on Jess’s sleeve at the scene. It contains traces of a compound called minoxidil.”

Leo said nothing.

“Minoxidil is found in products used to combat hair loss - like the foam we found in your bathroom cabinet. Care to explain why you have it?”

Leo still said nothing.

“I mean, come on, you’re twenty-nine and from what I can see, you’re not exactly going bald. Why do you have it, and how did that foam get from your hands onto Jess’ clothes?”   
Nothing about Leo’s expression changed as he spoke.

“My best friend is dead. I didn’t kill her. I don’t know how minoxidil came to be on her sleeve. And if you intend to keep asking these questions, I want a lawyer.”

He waited until the detective left the room and then slowly folded his arms on the metal table, resting his forehead there and hiding his face. On the other side of the one-way glass, Nikki watched as he started to cry. Jack looked away, jaw set and hard, leaning on the wall and watching the door. 

“Leo is trans,” he said quietly as Fields came back into the observation room and sat down in the chair opposite him and Nikki. “The minoxidil isn’t for his hair, it’s for his beard.”

Fields was watching him intently. “And you know this how?”

“Educated guess. Friend of mine does the same thing.”

“How convenient.” Fields pressed her lips into a thin, hard line. “You’ve taken an interest in this suspect from the start, even at the scene.”

“He asked if he could come with you!” Jack retorted. “So he wanted to be the one to tell her parents. Maybe he felt like he should have protected her while she stayed with him, maybe he didn’t want to feel like he was on his own. So what?”

“Or maybe he wanted to watch them break as they found out their daughter was dead.”

“We found nothing under his nails or any of his DNA on Jess’ body,” Nikki interjected before Jack could snap at the DI. “We also found no evidence at the scene or anywhere else in his flat that would suggest him trying to cover it up.”

“And what did we find?” Fields said crossly. “A lot of blood, a mess of prints - from two individuals, neither of whom seem to be on file - and some foreign DNA under the victim’s nails that we still haven’t identified.”

Nikki tried for a conciliatory tone. “Look, we’re still running comparisons with the DNA from other relevant individuals. So far we’ve focused on Leo, but we’ve established that he’s very unlikely to have been at the scene. Give us a chance to look at other potential suspects.”

Fields sighed and rearranged her hair. “I’m going to have to let him go, I’ve nothing to hold him on. Sadly there’s no law against having the stuff, and I can’t prove he’s lying about how or when it got there.” 

She turned and left the room, had a brief exchange with Leo in the interview room, and then left with him to escort him out. Nikki immediately turned to Jack. “What is going on with you?”

“Nikki, I’m fine.” He sat down in the chair Fields had recently vacated, and half-watched the lights on the recording equipment blinking on and off. 

“Bullshit!” Nikki almost laughed in shock at how blatantly Jack was lying. “I saw your reaction when Fields started asking about minoxidil. You had your heart in your mouth because for a minute you were afraid you’d been wrong about him the whole time.”

She was about to say more, but Jack dragged a hand over his face and looked her in the eye for the first time since they’d entered the room. She froze; the words died on her tongue. 

Jack looked… haunted. 

“I knew why he had it,” he said quietly. “That wasn’t just a smart guess. But how could I explain it without outing him? He’s trans, he’s stealth, and he wants to keep it that way.”

Nikki opened her mouth to say something, but Jack kept talking. 

“How could I explain without saying, oh, by the way, I hooked up with your prime suspect in a club two weeks ago, and I’m not sure but I think we’ve been casually dating ever since.” He gave her a small, tired smile. “It’s not just believing he’s innocent, Nikki. This is the hookup you’ve all been taking the mick out of me for these last two weeks.”

He didn’t react to her horrified look.

“Do you want to know the worst part? He’s not twenty-nine, he’s thirty. He’s thirty  _ today _ , Nikki.”

Nikki cut in at that point. “Jack, you should not be on this case! You should have stepped back immediately, as soon as we got to his flat.”

“I didn’t know it was his!” Jack protested. “When we hooked up, he came back to mine. I’d never been to his flat before we walked into a crime scene.”

“And taking him to see Jess’s parents? Taking him to a hotel?”

“He asked to speak to them, I asked the DI, she said fine if he can stay quiet when it’s important - which he did. I gave him a lift to a hotel because it was pissing it down that night.” 

Jack leaned forward in the chair, his words a little faster now, a little more urgent. 

“Nikki, for god’s sake, I told him at the scene that it was a massive conflict of interest and I couldn’t do anything that might compromise the work. We’ve barely spoken without someone else present and we’re not texting or messaging or anything else.”

“And has it compromised your work?”   
“No! Christ, Nikki. I’ve been deliberately asking Clarissa to double-check my analyses to try and counter that, I’ve been talking to you so that I get some kind of sign-off before I do practically anything. We still haven’t found anything that ties him to Jess’s body–”

“Other than the minoxidil,” Nikki finished. 

“Exactly.” 

Jack paused then, suddenly realising he’d missed something. They all had. 

“Hold on.” He stood up, almost knocking the chair back in his haste. “I’m going to go and grab DI Fields.”

DI Beth Fields was not having a good day. First, the prime suspect in her murder case was going to walk out, he’d refused to answer questions and coldly demanded a lawyer. Then the bloody-minded Forensics guy who had clearly already decided she had the wrong man had chased after her, calling her back. Now she was standing in the cramped little recording room with him and that bloody pathologist who seemed carved out of marble and always,  _ always _ took his side. 

“What is this all about?” she asked, not bothering to keep the irritation out of her voice. 

Jack sat back down, facing her. “The stuff we found in his bathroom - that’s a foam, right, ethanol-based, so it evaporates off the skin and leaves the drug behind. So how did we find a residue?”

Fields shrugged. “Leo puts it on, doesn’t wash his hands, Jess arrives, they fight, he kills her.”

“That still wouldn’t explain the absence of his DNA on the body or the presence of other foreign DNA and prints,” Nikki said carefully. 

Jack shook his head. “We found that it was minoxidil and  _ assumed  _ it was from Leo, because we found two bottles in his bathroom. What if it wasn’t?”

He wasn’t outwardly showing much sign of stress - not yet - but he felt like everything was humming with nervous energy and he was uncomfortably aware how much might turn on this conversation.

“That stuff would evaporate pretty fast and it wouldn’t leave much behind on clothes. If it turns out it  _ is _ the foam in Leo’s cabinet, that means someone is trying to set him up, because we know he didn’t go back to the flat during the day.” 

Fields sighed. “And if it’s not from him?”   
“Then somebody else was at the scene - most likely the person who killed Jess.” Jack swallowed the half-dozen acidic phrases queueing on his tongue, which could all be summarised as:  _ you’ve also outed an innocent man and we’ve been wasting our time while the real killer had chance to cover his tracks _ .

He didn’t grace DI Fields with a look; he pulled his phone out to ring Clarissa. 

“Hey. Any chance you’ve still got some of the sample of white residue we found on Jess’ sleeve at the scene? Need you to run a comparison for me, I’m on my way back.”


	9. Chapter 9

_16:18_

Jack strode into the Lyell’s analytical lab. “Tell me we’ve got good news.”

Clarissa shrugged. “Depends what you mean by good.”

“At this point, I’ll take whatever news I can get,” Fields said, pushing hair back from her face. 

Clarissa pulled up two IR spectra and combined them, one set of spectral lines red and the other blue.

“So - while the main compound in both foam and residue is minoxidil, the residue isn’t from the foam. There are several other compounds present in the residue at significant levels that just aren’t there in over-the-counter hair loss foams” - she gestured at several regions on the spectra where the lines didn’t match up. “This is the kind of thing you’d get on prescription.”

Jack let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding as he sprawled in the office chair next to his desk. “So it’s not his.”

“Nope. You’re looking for somebody who uses prescription hair-loss cream.”

Fields shook her head. “What I still don’t get is, why was he asking for a lawyer?”

Jack and Clarissa shared a brief, irritated look, before Jack answered. 

“You asked why he had hair loss foam,” he said slowly, trying to keep his temper. “In order to answer, he would have had to out himself as trans, something he believed you couldn’t force him to do.” 

Clarissa coughed. “I, ah, looked this up while the analysis was running. The Gender Recognition Act states that a previous identity may be revealed to a court in connection with a criminal case - so, if he’d committed a crime before legally transitioning. While he’s still a suspect and hasn’t been charged, it’s a very murky area.”

Fields was still frowning. “But all he had to do was say, okay, I’m trans, yes, the bottles in the bathroom are mine, but I didn’t kill her.”

“And you would have believed him, would you?” Jack snapped. “Ties him to the victim, puts him at the scene, they argued two nights before she was killed, and he’s trans. Case closed.”

Fields glared at him. “What are you implying, Hodgson?”

“That given how he’s probably been treated in the past by the police, he had every right to be angry, and scared, and not trust you an inch.” At this point, Jack had given up making any effort whatsoever to sound calm or collected. 

“So what does that leave us with?” Clarissa asked, trying to steer the conversation away from a fight. 

Nikki sighed. “Two sets of prints, foreign DNA, and a sharp knife.”

_18:57_

The couple by the lifts were not, in the receptionist’s opinion, making a good job of hiding their anger with each other. They were trying to keep their voices down, but she could quite clearly hear them snapping at each other - “you said you had it!” “no, I asked if you had it!” - and as they made their way over to her desk the woman looked furious; the man, slightly older, looked pretty sheepish as he sat down in one of the chairs near the lift. It was an impressive feat for someone so well-built, but he was managing quite well. 

“Can I help you?”

The red-haired woman came up to the desk and gave her a bright, entirely false, smile. 

“Hi, sorry to bother you - my useless boyfriend managed to get us locked out of our room. Is there any way we could get a duplicate key or something? I’ve locked my purse in the room, and I think that’s got the key in it.”

The receptionist tried very hard - and mostly succeeded - to hide a smile. “Sure, no problem. I’ll give you one of the master keys for your floor, bring it straight back when you’re done.”

“Thank you.” The woman’s smile seemed a little less brittle now, although she was clearly still very pissed off with her partner. “We’re on the third floor.”

The receptionist passed one of the spares across the desk; the woman almost snatched it out of her hand and marched off towards the lifts. The man sat in the chair shrugged helplessly at her, and stood up to follow.

_19:04_

Leo was sat on the end of the bed again, barefoot in a loose long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants, one hand curled around the handle of the knife. He’d washed it under the tap, but there was still a little bit of blood on the heel of the blade. An empty take-out container - last night’s sushi, which had reappeared a couple of hours later - was stuffed into the plastic bin across from him. Today’s meal attempt was half-eaten on the bedside table: teriyaki noodles, which had also refused to stay down. 

At the sudden thud of footsteps outside his door, he flinched; someone stomped down the hallway, past his room, and then doubled back. He stood up, sliding the knife he’d been toying with under the pillow, and cautiously padded towards the door. 

He was halfway across the room when the door bleeped as someone unlocked it from the outside.

He slowly stepped back around the corner, watched the handle turn in the mirror.

Two figures in black hoodies and black balaclavas stepped in and shut the door behind them. The one further forward turned towards the other, as if to ask a question, and Leo attacked. 

One hard punch to the back of the head, and they stumbled forward, crashing into their friend who shoved them away and lunged forward at Leo. He blocked the first punch, took the second hard across the ribs, and managed to throw a kick up to give himself some space to breathe. 

“Get the fuck out!”

The figure by the door - now standing up, although still a little wobbly - laughed, cold and cruel. 

“Like you got the fuck out of Jessica’s life?”

Leo flinched back, and the second figure - a head taller than him, and broader - started coming forward again, taking the impact of a second kick and half-falling forward to throw another punch. Leo tried to twist away, and mostly succeeded, but his assailant’s size and strength meant even though the punch mostly missed it still made his ears ring. 

However, on the bright side, it meant he didn’t get trapped when said assailant kept coming forward - he dodged to the left and managed to land a good, solid punch to the guy’s floating ribs. He wasn’t sure if something cracked under his knuckles or not, but the guy screamed, stumbling forward onto the bed and clutching at his side. 

The other figure in the balaclava - still tall, but slender - started towards him, landing a stinging strike to the side of his face. Leo hissed and swore, raising a hand to the scratches that were already starting to ooze blood. Instead of throwing another punch, though, he grabbed the top of the balaclava on their head and yanked hard. The figure stumbled, grabbed for the balaclava - or possibly their hair - but it was too late. Rosie looked up, her eyes bright and furious, her fierce red hair mussed and tangled. 

Leo threw the balaclava back at her, feeling the fight drain out of him. “Get out, Rosie.”

She smiled at him, still trembling, all vicious fire and fury. “Or what?”

He sighed, turning back to the guy on the bed - who was still clutching his ribs - and yanked the balaclava off his head too. Tom swore and made a vague motion with his right hand to try and keep it on, but it wasn’t particularly effective. 

“Get out before I call the police.”

Rosie made another attempt to hit him; this time, Leo didn’t bother to block it and took the blow on his back. It wasn’t particularly strong, and he mostly ignored it. Instead, he grabbed Tom by the shoulder and turned him over. Tom looked up at him, clearly in pain but still managing a cruel smile. 

“What are you going to do now, huh?” The smile cracked. “I lost my girl, you piece of shit. I’m still going to work and paying bills, you’re in a shit hotel room with takeout and going to pieces.”

Leo didn’t answer except to dig his thumb into where he’d punched Tom’s ribs. Tom howled in pain. 

He turned back to look at Rosie. “Get him out of here. If you’re lucky I won’t call the police.”

“What you going to tell them, fag?” Rosie glared at him, but she shoved past him and helped Tom to stand. “That masked strangers broke into your room and tried to kill you? Like they killed Jess?”

They staggered past, Tom leaning on Rosie. 

She looked back at him and spat, “Like anyone’s going to believe you, freak. Like anyone cares.”

Leo waited until they’d gone to get the key card they’d dropped by the door. He threw a hoodie on and shoved his feet into trainers, took the lift down. 

_19:51_

The receptionist looked up as the young man walked over: there were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair looked greasy. 

“Someone dropped their key card,” he said, his voice soft. “Thought I’d bring it down.”

She started to thank him, but he’d already turned away, heading back to the lift. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for description of suicidal ideation and a character's suicide attempt.

_ 20:37 _

Jack had his coat on and was getting ready to leave until something buzzed on his desk. He frowned, turning back, and looked across to Nikki. “Was that from yours?”

Nikki shook her head. “Not mine.”

Jack went back to his desk, not sure what he was going to find - if it wasn’t Nikki’s, and his phone was in his pocket, that meant Jess’s phone was getting notifications. They hadn’t had chance to even start looking through it properly yet - Clarissa had done some of the initial work, looking at message records and call logs from the phone company, looked through some of the things in the Notes app, but it hadn’t yielded much so far.

The notification flashed up on the lockscreen:  _ Messenger: Leo (tired plant dad) messaged you _ . 

Jack swore under his breath and picked up the phone through the evidence bag to show Nikki.

“What is he doing?” he asked, more to himself than anything else.

Nikki shrugged. “Open it.”

Jack tapped in the security code, fumbling a little through the plastic, and opened the app. Nikki moved to stand next to him, notes on the post-mortem forgotten. The phone kept vibrating - maybe every fifteen seconds or so.

_ Jess, I’m so sorry. I should have been there, I should have done something _

_ I’m sorry one of the last conversations we had was us fixing a drunk argument at two in the morning at a shit greasy café. I’m sorry we never got to do all the cool stuff we had planned - and all the dumb stuff we wanted to do together for my birthday.  _

_ You would have cried with laughter when you found out I’d never had tequila.  _

_ I know you can’t answer these, but I guess it helps a little to scream and cry and whatever into a void with your face on the profile. We watched that weird documentary on internet ghosts a few months back and you told me off for laughing at people who did this… bitch, you were right. _

_ I just feel so fucking lost. Every time I close my eyes, every time I see someone who looks even vaguely like you, all I can see is you. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I can’t think. _

_ They think I killed you.  _

Jack tried to focus on breathing out long and slow and controlled, despite the dryness in his mouth and the dawning horror in Nikki’s eyes. The messages stopped there - for the moment - and he carefully put the phone back on his desk.

“He should not be on his own right now,” he said, his voice tight with emotion.

“No. He shouldn’t.” Nikki gently rested a hand on his arm. “Neither should you.”

Jack opened his mouth to retort - he wasn’t even sure what he was going to say to her - but then Jessica’s phone vibrated with another message notification. 

_ I’m sorry, Jess. i loved you - maybe not how you wanted, maybe not how I could have - but you’re my best friend, and i’m sorry. guess i’ll see you sometime soon, if i’m lucky. _

“Oh god,” Nikki said quietly. “This isn’t just messaging to get the words out - we’re watching him write a suicide note.”

Jack crossed the room and threw her a set of car keys from his desk; she snatched them out of the air and snagged her coat from the stand, following him to the door as he yanked on his jacket. 

“I’ll call him on the way, find out where he is. You’re going to have to drive.”

_ 20:44 _

Leo had taken his stuff out of the hotel room half an hour ago, jamming everything back into the messenger bag and getting changed into jeans and a clean t-shirt before he went down and hoping that would be enough that the receptionist didn’t notice him. 

Now he was stood in the hallway of his flat, door locked, the metallic smell of blood replaced with almost painfully strong bleach. It made his nose prickle. Going by that, if nothing else, the cleaning company - whoever they were, Leo hadn’t asked - had done a very quick and efficient job. He walked slowly, dreamlike, into the living room, not sure what to expect. The sofa was still covered up - maybe they would come back and do that tomorrow - but the laminate floor underneath it was clean. 

He crouched down, unable to stop himself, and looked closely at the heavy wooden leg of the sofa. It might have been the light, but he thought there were a few small flecks of blood still dried onto it; the sight made his stomach turn over. He stood up quickly, and turned away to his room. 

The ritual of organising his things - like he’d come back from a weekend away! If only - calmed him a little bit. Not enough to make him stop and think, or to change his mind. Just enough to make him methodical in his approach. He threw dirty stuff in the laundry basket, folded and put away some things he hadn’t worn, and went across the hall to put his toothbrush back in its pot in the bathroom. 

His phone hummed in his pocket. He ignored it in favour of taking the knife out of the bag, returning the bag to the bottom of the wardrobe where it lived, and tucking the knife - handle first - into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He’d had this jacket for a long time, and he didn’t want to ruin the inside of the pocket by putting the knife in blade-first. Besides, he’d remember that he’d put it there - and even if he did slice his hand, so what? It wasn’t like that would be the biggest problem right now. 

His phone had - for now - stopped humming. He slid it out, glanced at the time, put it back. He hadn’t bothered to take his trainers off when he came in, but he paused by the door out of habit all the same. His eyes flicked across the coat hooks, looking for something - what, he wasn’t quite sure. Something off, something that would catch his attention for long enough to distract him from this whole stupid idea. 

He didn’t find it. He grabbed a beanie hat instead and put some gloves on, smiling weakly as he looked down at his hands. The little glow-in-the-dark bones painted on the gloves shone faintly, and his smile cracked and faded. 

_ You’re thirty years old and you still have fingerless skeleton gloves like a fucking teenager. Pathetic. _

He avoided the mirror on the other side of the hallway, went out and locked the door behind him. Outside, he patted his pockets - phone, wallet, keys, sorted - and started walking. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for description of suicidal ideation and a character's suicide attempt, as previous chapter.

_ 20:53 _

Jack swore quietly, his lips pressed together in a thin, hard line. “He’s not answering.”

Niki sighed, eased the car through a narrow gap between a lorry and a double-decker bus, and stopped at a red light. “Ring Clarissa? Ask her to try tracking his phone?” she asked, glancing over at him.

“Think she’s gone home.” Jack didn’t meet her eyes. “I’ll give it one more go, and then ring her.”

He dialled Leo again, held the phone to his ear, and closed his eyes, hoping desperately that there would be an answer. 

The phone rang five, six times, and then - 

“Jack?”

“Leo, where are you?”

There was a long pause. “Jack, please. I don’t - I don’t want you to see this.”

“Leo, please, just tell me where you are. I promise it’s going to be okay, but please, please just tell me where you are.”

Another long pause. “By the river. I got the tube to Charing Cross and just kind of got lost.”

Jack covered the receiver, swore again. “Okay. I’m going to get there as soon as I can, okay? Wait for me. Everything is going to be fine, I promise.”

The line went dead. He looked out of the window, at the hum of traffic around them. 

“Probably faster to get a tube.”

Nikki pulled over a couple of streets down, as near to an underground station as she could. “I can find somewhere to park and catch you up if you want?”

Jack didn’t say anything; he swung out of the car and started towards the station at something a couple of notches above a fast walk, but not quite a run. Nikki sighed, got back into the traffic, and resolved to park the car somewhere as soon as possible. Charing Cross, Leo had said, and then he’d got lost, and now he was by the river.

She was suddenly very thankful for the change of shoes she kept in the car.

_ 21:08 _

Jack got off the tube at Embankment, racing up the steps and barely noticing the people around him. Standing outside the station exit, he looked around for a moment, trying to work out which way was faster to get to the riverside. 

He rang Leo as he walked, dodging through the crowds - it wasn’t too bad, but it was still nine on a Saturday night, so some of them were already completely pissed. 

“Jack?”

“I’ve just got off the tube at Embankment. Where are you?”

“Still - still by the river.” A pause. “I’m cold.”

“I know, babe. I’m on my way.” Jack kept looking around, still not sure what he was looking for. “What can you see? Any buildings nearby?”

“I’m close to the bridge. There’s a big building with a sign on the side saying Somerset House.”

“I’m almost there. I’m coming down from the other side of the bridge, I’ll be there soon.”

Jack was running now, panic beginning to properly set in. He turned left at the bridge and started along the waterside, squinting under the streetlights. 

He was looking for someone standing up, maybe sat on the wall and leaning over - so he almost missed the figure in a leather jacket and a beanie hat, huddled against the wall. 

He looked down just in time.

“Leo?”

The figure shifted slightly, looked up, and now in the dull orange glow he could see Leo’s face, pale and tearstained. “Jack - Jack, I’m sorry, I–”

Jack knelt down beside him, wrapped his arms around him. “Hey. it’s going to be okay.” He could feel Leo’s shoulders shaking. “It’s going to be fine, I promise.”

“I’m so cold,” Leo mumbled into his shoulder. 

Jack frowned, shifted back slightly. “Are you okay? Are you bleeding?” 

When Leo didn’t answer, he pulled up the sleeves of his leather jacket, and almost immediately yanked his hand back. Leo’s arms were covered in blood; by now it was probably pooling underneath him as well. No wonder he was cold. 

Jack took one long, slow breath while he rang for an ambulance, figuring out what would happen next. Leo’s breathing was shallow, and he was still shivering, hiding his face in Jack’s coat. 

The call handler told him paramedics would be on the way shortly, probably getting to him in five minutes at the outside. She asked if the victim - Jack choked back the urge to scream at the word - if the victim was still breathing and how fast their heart was beating. 

“Breathing rapid and shallow, heartbeat–” his voice cracked “–heartbeat beginning to slow down.”

The call handler reassured him that things would be okay, and that the paramedics were on their way. 

Jack dialled Nikki while he waited. Every second seemed to drag on forever, waiting for the call to connect.

“Jack?”

“Nikki, I’ve found him, but - I don’t know. I think I might have been too late. He’s so cold and he can’t stop shivering.” Jack couldn’t keep the fear out of his voice. 

“Where are you?”

“Near Embankment station, some place called Somerset House and what I think is Waterloo Bridge. I’ve rung for an ambulance, they’re on their way but I don’t know if it’s going to be enough.” Jack was speaking through gritted teeth, trying not to cry. “He’s dying, Nikki. I was too late.”

He could hear Nikki trying to reassure him, but her words seemed to be coming from far away, down a long tunnel filled with static. He closed his eyes and kept his arms around Leo, waiting for sirens and blue light and a chance in hell that things would be okay. 

_ 22:48 _

Nikki sat down next to him with two cups of vending-machine coffee. “Anything?”

“Not much. They’ve stopped the bleeding, think they wanted to give him a transfusion because he lost so much. He was just about able to talk when they got to us, though, so they think it’s unlikely there’s any significant brain damage from lack of oxygen.” 

Jack paused long enough to drink half the cup she’d handed him in one swallow. His eyes were red-rimmed and sore, although Nikki hadn’t seen him crying. 

“The biggest thing they were worried about, after stopping the bleeding, was whether he’d taken anything else.” He gave her a look that communicated, very clearly, the bitter irony of it. “They’re basically waiting on a tox report.” 

Nikki gave him a weak smile. “He’s going to be okay.”

“More or less. Going to have some nasty scars, though.” He drank the rest of the coffee, and the taste of it finally seemed to register in his brain. “Also, are you sure this is coffee, and not liquid mud?”

“People don’t usually get drinks from hospital vending machines for the quality,” Nikki shrugged. “Are you okay?”

Jack didn’t say anything for several minutes, sat very still and staring intently at the opposite wall. 

“I should have been there.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat, willing himself not to break now, not in front of Nikki. “I should have talked to him, his best friend is dead, his whole life has been turned upside down, the lead investigator wanted his head on a plate, and I - wasn’t - there.”

Nikki - wisely - said nothing.

“I thought I was doing the right thing by trying to step back, I didn’t want to let things between us get in the way of the evidence, but–” Jack broke off, ran a hand down the side of his face to cover his mouth. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and uncertain.

“I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t talk to him about the investigation, we both knew it was a conflict of interest, but if I had been talking to him, this might not have happened. I tried to do what was best for both of us, and it - it wasn’t enough.”

Nikki set down the cup of coffee she’d been holding - it was going cold anyway - and reached over to squeeze his free hand. “Jack, you tried to do the right thing. You couldn’t have known this would happen, and if you had been talking to him Fields would have had your head on a platter as well. The whole investigation could have got tangled up in it.”

Jack didn’t respond, so she kept talking, hoping some of what she was saying would sink in.

“Either way, he trusted you enough to talk to you tonight and ask for your help. You were able to get to him in time.” She squeezed his hand again. “Jack, you saved his life. I know you’re scared and you’re still thinking of all the ways things could have gone where you were too late, but you weren't. He’s going to be okay. And,” she added as an afterthought, “because you were able to find something that broke Fields’ case, you can be there for him now.”

Jack looked up at that, and she realised with a start that he  _ was  _ crying, almost silent, tears steadily running down his cheeks. She pulled him into a hug, and felt him crumple against her, his shoulders shaking - relief, residual fear, simple adrenaline comedown, it was impossible to say. 

He pulled back after a minute or two, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Sorry about that.”

He watched as she rolled her eyes, and gave her a small, sad smile.

“Are you going to stay here?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Probably the next couple of hours, until there’s some news. I’ll be okay.”

Nikki carefully stood up, wincing in discomfort at being sat on a hard plastic chair for too long. “Let me know if you hear anything, okay?” she said as she put her coat back on. “And don’t come into the Lyell tomorrow.”

Jack managed a weak chuckle at that. “I’ll be happy if I get out of bed, at this rate.”

He waved briefly as she walked away down the corridor, and tried to find a comfortable position on the chair; he was settling in for a while.

A couple of hours later - Jack wasn’t entirely sure, time passed differently in hospital corridors - a junior doctor tapped him gently on the arm. He shifted, coming out of a bleary half-asleep haze. 

“Mr Hodgson?”

Jack blinked a few times, trying to clear the doziness from his brain. “Yeah?”

“He’s asleep, but he’s stable. You can go in and sit with him for half an hour, if you’d like.” The doctor gave him a small smile. “He’s a very lucky man. There’s going to be some considerable scarring, but aside from that there doesn’t seem to be any other permanent damage at this stage.”

Jack relaxed slightly, some of the tension starting to ebb away - although he didn’t think he’d calm down completely until he was properly asleep. “Thank you.”

The doctor held the door open for him, and he sat down by Leo’s bed in another hard plastic chair. He waited until the doctor had left to take Leo’s hand, mindful of the tubes and the needles under his skin. 

Even though he knew Leo probably couldn’t hear him, he spoke anyway. 

“It’s okay now. I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay.”


	12. Chapter 12

_11:13, Monday 22nd October._

Tom Blake opened the door, flinching a little at the cold air on his skin.

“Can I help you?” he asked. “Only I’m supposed to be in work at twelve.”

DI Fields stepped inside; Jack followed. “Actually, Mr Blake, I think you’d better phone ahead and let them know you can’t make it. We’ve got some questions to ask you.”

Tom shrugged, and led them through to the kitchen. “To be fair, I was probably going to call in sick. Mountain biking at the weekend, came off, might have bruised a few ribs.”

“We’d also like to take your fingerprints and a DNA swab.”

Tom looked worried, but didn’t say anything as he pulled a chair out and sat down at the kitchen table.

Jack didn’t bother explaining the reasons. “It’s nothing to worry about, just a cheek swab and some scans.” He sat down across from Tom, did the swab first, and then extracted the fingerprint scanner from his case. With everything connected, he started taking Tom’s prints while the DI asked some introductory questions; asking him to tell her where he’d been on the day of Jess’s murder, where he worked, who could back up his story. They’d already covered most of this, but it helped to check for consistency. 

Once the fingerprint scans were done, Jack stepped through to the living room while Fields continued to ask questions. Something about the house didn’t fit. There was dog hair everywhere, and a couple of toys scattered around the living room - but there was no sign of the dog. 

On a hunch, he went round to the next-door neighbours and asked if they’d seen anything. The woman he spoke to was very forthcoming - definite curtain-twitcher, Jack thought, but useful. The dog - a brown and white beagle - was currently being walked by a young girl with long hair. It put an interesting twist on Tom’s ‘concerned boyfriend’ routine - if he’d been cheating on Jess, that would give him a possible motive, and a lot of reasons to cover it up. 

“She’s been round a few times now - I do hope she’s not his girlfriend, she’s much too young for him.”

Jack nodded. “How old, would you say?”

The woman pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Late teens, early twenties? It’s so hard to tell these days, the amount of makeup some of these girls wear.”

“Did you notice what she was wearing at all?”

“Big black coat, you know, like a weatherproof thing. Couple of sizes too big, but that seems to be the fashion now.”

Jack made a mental note to try and come back later. Tom sending the girl, whoever she was, to walk the dog in his jacket could have been a way to get both an awkward girlfriend and suspicious items of clothing out of the house on a plausible excuse, but he couldn’t do that forever.

“Have you noticed anything unusual at all, last couple of days?”

The woman wrinkled her nose as she thought. “The dog’s been limping. I said to him over the fence, he should get a vet to look at that, and he said he was getting it sorted. I tried to recommend the vet who looks after our cats when they get poorly, but he brushed me off.”

“Thank you.” Jack headed back to Blake’s house, where Fields was still sat in the kitchen asking him questions and - by the sound of it - not getting any helpful answers. He joined them, watching Tom intently as the man sweated and stumbled and put on a show of how upset he was that he was being questioned about his girlfriend’s death. 

Fields paused in taking notes, and turned to look at him. “Hodgson. Something you want to add?”

“Yeah.” Jack pulled up a chair and sat across from Tom, still watching his reactions. “Who’s walking the dog?”

Tom looked briefly confused. “My brother’s looking after her for a couple of days. She’s not been well, and he works from home, so he can get her to vet’s appointments and that.”

“What vet surgery would that be with?”

“Uh, I can get you their business card - I can never remember the name of it.” Tom fished around in his wallet and passed over a crumpled business card: _Foster and Singh Veterinary Practice._

“Thank you.”

“What the hell does the dog have to do with anything?” Fields snapped as they walked back to the car.

“There’s dog hair everywhere, toys in the living room, bowl in the kitchen… and no dog. That doesn’t seem odd to you?”

They got in the car; Jack kept talking as Fields put it into gear and backed out of the gravel drive.

“There was also a gap in the coats on the hooks by the back door, in the kitchen. I went and asked the next-door neighbour if she’d seen anything, she says the dog was being walked by a young woman in her early twenties with long hair in a black waterproof that’s too big for her.” 

“So he was cheating on Jess?” Fields sighed, and smacked the steering wheel in frustration. “Shit. We came in the front door, and he sends her out the back with his coat and a furry excuse.”

“There’s something else, too. She said the dog’s been limping the last few days. Now, could be nothing, but given that he’s a potential suspect in a violent murder investigation, I think it’s worth finding out what happened.”

The detective sighed, idly tapping her fingers on the wheel as she thought. “I’ll drop you back at the Lyell. You go to the vet, I’ll send Hitame over to meet you there. I need to get this logged.”

_12:30  
_

“Hi, can I speak to Mr Foster, please?” Hitame held up her ID. The receptionist - youngish guy, spiky hair, glasses - squinted at it from behind the desk, and stood up. 

“Sure. I’ll see if he’s available, there’s nothing booked in for twenty minutes or so.”

Hitame turned back to Jack while the receptionist disappeared down a corridor. “What do you think we’re looking at here?”

Jack shrugged. “At a guess, Tom isn’t the gentle giant he wants people to think he is. Maybe the dog barks too much one evening, he loses his temper, and then has to figure out how to cover it up.”

Hitame shuddered. “My parents have cats, and they were grumpy and anti-social at the best of times, but...” She shook her head slowly in disbelief. “I just - I can’t imagine what kind of person would do that. That animal loves you, you’re their whole world… and you repay that by kicking them when you can’t keep your temper.”

She looked up at the sound of footsteps coming back down the corridor towards them. The receptionist kid reappeared, followed by a taller, older man with thinning grey hair and wire-rimmed glasses. 

“I’m Simon Foster, I’m one of the senior vets here.” He looked at them both - a mismatched couple, no pet carrier in sight. “How can I help?”

“I’m Detective Hitame Sawyer, this is Jack Hodgson. We’d like to ask you some questions about one of your clients.”

Foster gestured back down the corridor with an open hand. “We can talk in my office.”

Once they were inside and the door was closed, Foster sat down behind the desk and asked, “So. Why are you interested in our clients?” Jokingly, he added, “Aren’t you supposed to deal with humans?”

Hitame took a picture out of her notebook and handed it across the desk. “Do you recognise this man?”

“Vaguely. I know he’s registered here and I could probably pick him out of a line-up, but I can’t put a name to him without looking him up.”

Hitame gave him a thin smile, and tucked the picture away. “That won’t be necessary. Can you tell us whether he’s brought an animal in, this last week or so?”

Foster looked thoughtful. “He has a beagle,” he said quietly. “Brown and white, not much more than a puppy really. He came in last Thursday, said he’d noticed the dog was limping and whining in pain on a morning walk, and wanted an urgent appointment. We took the dog in that afternoon.”

“What did you find during the examination?” Jack asked. 

“Severe bruising to the back right leg, extending to the lower part of the abdomen. There was also some bruising to the tail, but the x-rays didn’t show any breaks, so we gave the dog a mild sedative and let him rest.”

“How did Mr Blake seem when he collected the dog?” Hitame asked, taking some notes. 

“He came to pick the dog up the following morning. When one of the nurses asked him about it, he brushed her off - said the dog must have fallen or something, he didn’t know.” 

“And what was your conclusion?”

Foster sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I requested they put a note on his file, that if he were to turn up with the dog again, with similar injuries and no explanation, that we should contact the RSPCA.”

“You thought he was abusing the dog?”

“I thought it was likely, but I couldn’t prove it. The dog was by all accounts very friendly and wanting to say hello to everyone - but when Mr Blake came back to pick it up, it went very quiet.”

Hitame nodded, closed her notebook. “Thank you.”

“One last thing - do you have any pictures of the bruising?” Jack asked, as they stood to leave. 

“I can give you a copy of my exam report.” Foster turned back to his computer. “Why the interest? The police don’t generally get involved in animal abuse cases unless it’s something on an industrial scale.”

“I’m not able to disclose that,” Hitame said, before Jack could answer. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I understand,” Foster said, leaning over to grab the papers off the printer. “Whatever happens, I hope the dog is okay.”

_13:50_

“Well, someone’s been careful.” Clarissa looked up from her screen and grinned in triumph at Nikki. “Tom Blake has a long and interesting career history, notably a stint in the army, and a dishonorable discharge. His current job might be his longest period of employment since.”

“How long would that be?” Thomas asked, coming back through from the tiny kitchenette with a coffee. 

“Just over two years.” Clarissa paused, and scrolled further back, looking thoughtful. “Educational history is interesting too - considerable time spent in a pupil referral unit.” At Nikki and Thomas giving her equally blank looks, she continued. “A pupil referral unit is where the local authority sends the children that can’t continue in a mainstream school, whether that’s educational needs that can’t be accommodated or because the child has been excluded for behavioural reasons. For some, that’s the breathing space they need - smaller classes, more one-to-one support. For others, it’s a downward spiral to a young offenders’ institution.”

“No prizes for guessing which category Blake falls into,” Thomas said dryly, moving to stand behind Clarissa and skim the documents on-screen over her shoulder. 

Clarissa shook her head. “It’s surprising, actually - he didn’t go on to a young offenders’, he left the PRU with enough GCSEs to join the army. He was part of the Duke of Lancaster’s regiment for about six years, with one eighteen-month deployment to Iraq. After that, there were various short-lived jobs selling sports gear, working in a bar, waiting tables, that sort of thing.”

“Casual work, then,” Nikki said. “Moving from place to place and job to job.”

“More or less. He’s also had several brushes with the law - multiple arrests, so his information is probably on file somewhere, but all ten years ago or longer, so prints and DNA might not be digitised or not even taken at the time of the arrest. They might also have been deleted from the database - some of these things have time limits.”

“Any convictions?” Thomas asked

“None. Seems like he was always dropped for a lack of evidence, or the police didn’t think the case would stand up in court.”

“What were the arrests connected with?”

“Violent crime,” Clarissa said grimly. “Think assault, aggravated assault, and GBH.” 

The three of them glanced up at the noise of the door opening; Jack strode in carrying a thin card file, which he promptly dropped on Nikki’s desk and asked, “How much do you know about injuries in dogs?”

Nikki opened the file and flipped through the pictures. “Nowhere near as much as the day job, but if there’s a professional report included I can work with that. Where did this come from?”

Jack leaned over, picked one photograph out from the rest, and passed it across to Thomas and Clarissa. “I got these after a nice chat with the vet who looked over Blake’s dog. According to him, the dog’s injuries and behaviour are the result of animal abuse.”

“Fits with what we already have,” Thomas said. “He appears to have a history of violence, but no criminal charges were ever sustained.”

“Are his prints and DNA on file?”

“Not that we can see - information doesn’t appear to be in the national database.”

Jack headed over to the lab space to start unpacking the briefcase - he’d dropped it off earlier, in between Fields dropping him off and Hitame arriving. “Guess what I got earlier this morning?”


	13. Chapter 13

_16:00  
_

“This still doesn’t make any sense,” Nikki said distractedly, bringing the CCTV from outside the flat on-screen. 

Fields looked irritated; Sawyer sighed briefly. “Talk us through it.”

“We’ve got two individuals - one of whom we now think is Tom Blake - leaving at half-past ten, and he arrives at work to run the eleven-thirty spin class.” 

Thomas took over. “His prints and DNA match one of the profiles we took from the scene, and from under Jessica’s fingernails, suggesting he was the person, or one of the people, she fought with just before she died.”

“So far, so good,” Fields said, tapping a pen against her jaw.

Nikki shook her head. “But we’ve put time of death at around midday, possibly even later.”

“So, Tom and this mysterious other person leave… and Jess is still alive when they walk out?” Sawyer asked. 

Clarissa shook her head. “Seems unlikely - there’s no evidence of anyone else, apart from Tom and the other person, either in the flat or on Jessica’s body.”

“What do we know about this other person?” Fields asked. “Can we trace their movements at all?”

“There was no hit when we ran it through the database, so they’ve not had any previous convictions,” Jack said, standing up to show an image of the DNA blot on the screen. “However, there was enough material for us to establish that the other person is female.”

“That also fits with what we’ve got on CCTV - which is two figures in black jackets, one bigger - probably Tom - and one smaller, which is our mystery woman.” Clarissa turned to Jack. “Didn’t you say when you interviewed Blake on Monday that you thought there might be something going on?”

“I’m getting there!” Jack said, holding up his hands; unobserved by the others, Clarissa shot him a grin. “When we went to interview Blake, I spoke to one of the neighbours. According to her, there’s been a young woman with long hair who regularly comes round, late teens or early twenties.” 

“In summary, then - we know who one of the figures in a dark jacket is, we know when they were both at the flat, and we can prove that there was some kind of a struggle with Jess.” Fields sat back, a deep line etched into her forehead. “But we don’t know who the second figure is, and we can’t explain why none of this fits with the time of death.”

She looked about to continue, but was interrupted by a phone vibrating. 

Jack winced. “Sorry. That’s mine.” He ducked out of the room; Nikki watched as he paced up and down the corridor, listening intently to whoever was on the other end of the call. He didn’t come back for a while; Thomas concluded the briefing and promised to let Fields and Sawyer know if there was any progress on finding out how things fitted together. 

“Who was that?” she asked, as Jack returned; Thomas had already left, escorting the detectives out. 

“Leo,” Jack said quietly, picking up his coat. “I asked him to let me know when he had news of when they were going to discharge him.”

“What do you want us to say to Thomas?” Clarissa asked, watching him sort his laptop and check his pockets for wallet and keys.

Jack frowned, thinking about it briefly. “I’m checking in with a potential witness to ask some questions about what happened the day Jessica died, see if he’s remembered anything.” He spoke a little slower than normal, as if choosing his words carefully. 

Nikki didn’t respond directly. “When did he say that he’s being discharged?” she asked gently.

“Maybe tomorrow evening, maybe the following morning.” Jack looked up from his laptop and gave her a small smile. “He also said the doctor told him he’s lucky to just come out with scars.”

“Keep us up to date?” Clarissa said, giving him the kind of look people usually reserved for stupid-but-lovable dogs. “Don’t get distracted. You’re at work.”

“I can’t imagine what you think I’m going to do, Clarissa.” 

Clarissa rolled her eyes, and turned to Nikki. “Do you know what he said, when he told me about Leo?”

Nikki sighed and tried not to smile. “I’m not going to like it, am I?”

“ ‘And Nikki reckons she’s been unlucky with men’.”

Nikki burst out laughing. 

_17:34  
_

“Hey.” Jack went to sit down on the plastic chair again, but Leo shuffled over and gestured to the edge of the hospital bed. “How you doing?”

“Alright, given the circumstances.” Leo gave him a wry smile. “Hospital food seems to have got better since the last time I was in, so I guess there’s that.”

Jack frowned slightly, tilted his head to one side. Leo didn’t answer the unspoken question.

“They’re discharging me in the morning - I’ve got one last night of observation - and they want me to come back to have a chat with one of their counsellors before they refer me on.” He shook his head and half-shrugged in vague surprise. “Wonder of wonders, they’re considering referring me somewhere - although I have no doubt I’ll be on a waiting list for a year.”

“Did they end up giving you stitches?”

Leo winced. “Yeah. They’re dissolving stitches, which isn’t so bad, but _christ_ they itch. At least they’re under bandages for now.”

Jack followed his gaze to the layers of white gauze wrapped around his forearms. “Are you going to be alright?”

Leo shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m okay for now, yeah, but longer term, who knows.”

Jack slid a hand out towards him across the bedsheet; Leo took it, resting his hand on top and loosely interlacing their fingers. 

“I’m here when you need me, okay?” Jack said gently. 

Leo looked up from their hands, and smiled - a small smile, but the first genuine smile Jack had seen since he walked into a crime scene in his flat. “Yeah. Thanks.” He looked away, suddenly self-conscious. Jack held his hand and waited until Leo met his eyes again. He’d braced himself to start asking questions about the day Jess was murdered, but they could wait a couple of minutes. 

One of the nurses arrived to break the quiet - evening rounds, doing a quick check-in and asking if he wanted any painkillers . She looked pointedly at the empty chair and gave Jack a stern look, before moving on. Once she’d left, Jack forced himself to ask the questions he’d been trying not to think about since he’d arrived. 

“I’m sorry to have to bring this up, but can I ask you some questions about the evening Jess died?”

Leo flinched, but he nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

“When you came in, did you notice anything unusual about the flat? Anything out of place?”

Leo didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes; when he spoke, it was slow and thoughtful. 

“I got home, it was tipping it down with rain. Came in, called out to Jess but there was no answer, so I - I assumed she’d gone out. I went into the kitchen, and tried to call her while I–” He paused; when he spoke again, it was with a definite note of puzzlement. “I started making a cup of tea. It was so cold inside - when I checked the thermostat, it was barely warmer than it was out.”

“And that definitely wasn’t you turning it off in the morning by mistake.”

Leo shook his head. “Jess had just got out of the shower when I was leaving, and she hadn’t said anything about going out. I left it up to her because she was going to be in.” He leaned over and grabbed his phone off the side table. “I got a remote heating thing a couple of years ago, it tracks how much you use. While Jess was staying with me I gave her the password so she could control it if I was out.”

Jack nodded, sent a quick text to Clarissa - _L says it was cold when he got in. heating control app?_ \- and asked something else, and they talked over some of the other things that had happened in the space since Jessica’s death. Eventually, he circled back to something Leo had said not long after he’d arrived. 

“What did you mean when you said, ‘since the last time’?”

“This is not the first time I’ve been in hospital, Jack.” Leo sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “Once for top surgery, couple of times for minor things that turned out worse than they should have, and once when I was thirteen, for a half-hearted suicide attempt.”

Jack tried not to flinch, and mostly succeeded. “Christ. Leo, I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“You didn’t know.” Leo shook his head briefly, as if dismissing the memories, and gave him a tired half-smile. “It’s fine, it was years ago.”

He glanced over at something moving outside, and with the change in angle Jack suddenly noticed the dull purple-red mark on the side of his head - just below his temple. Leo noticed the change, the sudden stillness, and shifted uncomfortably. 

“Jack?”

“What happened?” Jack asked. “Where did the bruise come from?”

Leo rearranged himself, turning to face Jack rather than sitting side-on. The change in position revealed several shallow scratches that looked to Jack unsettlingly like fingernail marks, as well as the bruise. 

“Someone - two people - broke into my hotel room.”

“When?”

Leo didn’t look at him. “Couple of hours before I - before I went to the river.”

“Okay. Whatever they threatened you with, whoever they were, I am glad that you called me that night when you did.” Jack breathed out slowly. “Tell me what happened.”

“They had a room key - must have taken it from reception. They let themselves into the room, but I got the first punch in. It didn’t last long, once they realised I knew who they were they left in a hurry.” Leo managed a faint smile and said, “Before you ask - it was Rosie and Tom. I didn’t know they knew each other, really. I guess they were both angry about - about Jess.”

Jack concentrated on keeping his breathing regular and even; if he focused on that, he was less likely to be visibly angry. Leo was fragile enough right now, he shouldn’t have to be managing Jack’s semi-misplaced protective instincts as well. 

Leo was still talking, still not looking at him; he was staring at the space between their hands on the bed sheet. “Tom was the one who hit me in the head. I might have broken one of his ribs, I’m not sure. Rosie slapped me when he went down, I think that’s what the scratches are from. I didn’t hit her. They were both wearing balaclavas, I yanked hers off. Probably took a chunk of hair with it, too.”

“Did they threaten you with anything?”

“They were mostly just talking shit, I think. They were angry.”

“What did they say?”

Leo didn’t answer for a couple of minutes. “I told them to get out or I’d call the police. Tom said some bullshit about how he was still going and I was falling apart.” 

Another pause. Jack moved a little closer, closed the space between their hands. Leo swallowed, and started to speak again. 

“Rosie said something as they left - some shit like, ‘what are you going to tell them, fag? That people tried to kill you, like they tried to kill Jess?’ Like nobody would believe me, or care.” 

He said the words without weight, and Jack thought that somehow that was worse. As if it was background radiation, just white noise and static underneath his day-to-day existence. 

“What I don’t get is how they knew I was there. It wasn’t like I’d told many people I wasn’t in my flat or posted anything anywhere online.”

“Best guess, they followed you,” Jack suggested. 

“Simplest explanation, but raises another question. Why?”

Jack shook his head. “That I can’t answer.”

_18:48_

The nurse came back shortly after that, and gently but firmly informed Jack that visiting hours were over, and would he please leave so the patient could get some rest. She was clearly less than impressed that Jack had been sat on the bed, rather than in the chair, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. 

“Give me a call or something when you leave, yeah?” he said, squeezing Leo’s hand and - once he was fairly sure the nurse wasn’t hovering behind him - kissing his forehead. 

Once in the corridor, he shoved his hands in his pockets, head down, walking fast. He wasn’t planning on staying long at the Lyell, just grabbing a few things and then going home. The conversation with Leo was still playing on his mind - _it’s fine, it was years ago_ \- like he was talking about someone he used to know, not the suffocating greyness where death felt like the only way out. 

_19:17_

He dropped in briefly on Clarissa. “You got anything?”

She held up Jessica’s phone. “Just after 10:15 the heating was completely turned off. Nikki’s still trying to work out how much impact that could have on the estimate for time of death.”

“I’ve also got enough to pass to DI Fields and probably get Tom arrested. Before Leo - before he went into hospital, he said two people broke into his hotel room and attacked him. One of them was Tom.” He grinned at Clarissa. “See? Told you. Strictly work related.”

Clarissa smirked. “Nice try, lover boy.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but he didn’t mind too much. Leo was okay. That was the important thing. Even though something about their conversation was still needling him, Leo was okay. He tried to put it to the side; it was probably nothing, the product of a tired and overstressed mind.

Sleep did not come easily that night. 


	14. Chapter 14

_13:30, Tuesday 23rd October.  
_

Outside the hospital, Leo briefly skimmed over the notes they’d handed him - don’t immerse the wounds in water until they’re completely healed over, change the dressings every other day, that kind of thing. 

He was glad to be out. The ward during the day had been bright, loud, and endlessly busy, a constant source of low-level stress. Now he was standing outside, and it was comparatively quiet and calm; grey clouds, the low hum of traffic, people coming in and out of the hospital buildings. He was mostly just hoping that the rain would hold off until he got home. He sent Jack a quick text - _they’ve released me! going home for now, got to speak to HR later, joy_ \- then pulled his jacket a little tighter around himself and started walking, heading for the nearest tube station. 

Jack was sat at his desk when his phone rang. Nikki looked up, gave him a wry smile, and then went back to what she was working on. Jack glanced down at the caller ID - Leo - and frowned. Leo had texted him earlier, when he’d been discharged, and hadn’t said anything about wanting to call. 

The feeling of something not quite right was still nagging at him from their conversation the previous night in a hospital room. Even though he knew it was probably nothing, that was enough for him to answer - although in deference to Nikki’s need for relative quiet when working, he got up and went into the corridor by the reception to take the call. 

“Leo?”

No response. 

“Hello?”

Still nothing. From the sound of it, Leo had pocket-dialled him; there were two distinct voices, his and a softer, higher-pitched female voice, which after a couple of sentences he guessed was Rosie. He was about to hang up when something caught his attention. 

Not long after Leo had got home - although after the phone call to HR, which was about as fun as could be expected - there was a knock on the door. He stood up cautiously, still feeling pretty weak and lightheaded, and went to see who it was.

Rosie was stood on the doorstep, hair damp, eyes wet with tears. “Can I come in?”

Leo stepped to the side - not explicitly inviting her in, just… not stopping her. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk,” she said; her voice sounded hoarse and scratchy. “I came to say I’m sorry. Tom was going nuts, he’d been practically stalking you since he and Jess went on a break, and I - I didn’t do enough. I’m sorry, Leo.”

Leo eyed her warily, but let her go ahead of him into the living room. It still smelt faintly of bleach, but he’d had the windows open since he got back and the overpowering scent of artificial citrus had mostly cleared. She leaned on the back of one of the dining table chairs, but didn’t sit. 

“Where’s Tom?” he asked.

“Don’t know.” She scrubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper, pulling it out from under the black weatherproof she was wearing. It was too big, it didn’t suit her at all - but when she moved, there was a metallic glint of _something_ shoved carelessly into an oversized pocket. 

Leo thought of his leather jacket, and how careful he’d been to avoid slicing the lining. While Rosie was distracted, he silenced his phone and dialled Jack before tucking it into the pocket of his hoodie. 

_I have to get her to talk._

Rosie had mumbled something about Tom being at work, maybe, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t seem happy about it. 

“Maybe the police have gone round again,” he said offhandedly. “Last I heard, they were pretty interested in what he’s been up to. Trying to beat me up in a hotel room isn’t exactly going to make him look good.”

“And being a faggy little perv like you makes you look good, does it?” she retorted, but there was no real bite to the words. 

Leo gave her a brief and very obviously faked grin. “There’s the miserable bitch I know and loathe.” The grin fell away like a dropped weight. “What do you want, Rosie?”

“Shut up,” she said tiredly, not even trying to look him in the eye; she was still sniffly and, for want of a nicer phrase, _wet_ , he thought. “It’s not about you.”

“No, it’s not about me, is it?” Leo said slowly. “It’s about you. Why did you come to my hotel room?”

“I told you, Tom was angry–”

“No. Why did _you_ come to my hotel room?”

“I was pissed!” Rosie snapped. “I’d been drinking all day, Tom was fuming, I wanted to hurt something and forget for a while. Fuck you.”

“No, you hadn’t,” Leo said, watching Rosie as she watched him, sizing him up from the other side of the table. “You were sober. Both of you.”

Rosie said nothing, so he pressed further, watching and waiting for her response. 

“So why follow me? Why attack me?”

Still nothing.

“Why try to kill me like you killed Jess?”

On the other end of the line, the sudden understanding felt like a bolt of electricity to Jack. 

Leo had described the fight in his hotel room and mentioned in passing Rosie’s words to him, and something about the phrase _like they tried to kill Jess_ had been needling at him like a dripping tap ever since. It was only now, listening to Leo and Rosie over the phone, that it dawned on him what had been off about the phrase. Everyone involved with the investigation had known that there had been two people involved in Jessica’s death more or less from the start. Even if it had been Leo, there would still have been the question of who the other person was - there were two DNA profiles identified, and even two wounds. 

But Rosie didn’t know that. 

_Couldn’t_ have known that.

Unless she’d been there. 

Evidently Leo had worked it out. 

He turned on his heel, heading back towards the computer space, keeping the phone against his ear with one hand. The initial shock had started to fade, replaced with a gnawing fear in the pit of his stomach. 

At his desk, he set up a comparison of two already-logged DNA profiles: the female profile of Tom’s mystery girlfriend, and the set taken posthumously from Jess for elimination. He kept listening to the conversation, Rosie’s denial and anger - and then, for a few seconds, nothing. 

Then there was a muffled crash, and the line went dead. 

The computer bleeped - _analysis completed_ \- and returned with a definite familial match and the comparison algorithms suggesting a sibling relationship. Jack skimmed over it as he pulled his coat on, hurriedly locking things up and checking for his keys. 

“Jack?” Nikki looked up from her screen and the pile of notes on her desk. “What’s going on?”

“Tom’s mystery girlfriend is Jessica’s sister,” Jack said urgently. “She’s gone round to Leo’s flat, and I don’t think it’s for coffee and a catch-up. I’m heading over there now.”

“I’m coming with you.” Nikki’s tone made it clear that this was not up for discussion. “And we’re calling DI Fields on the way.”


	15. Chapter 15

For maybe half a second, both of them stood there - watching and waiting, sizing each other up. 

Rosie lunged - what she was trying to do, Leo wasn’t entirely sure. It involved a lot of nails and screaming. He ducked, going for a rugby-tackle style defence and hoping it would give him an opening for some kind of hold. He missed the worst of the clawing which would otherwise have been on his face, although her nails raked painfully across his scalp. 

As she took half a step backwards, he straightened up and threw a punch, catching her squarely in the mouth. She reeled back a couple of steps further, one hand coming up to cover her face. Leo swore - he’d split his knuckles on her teeth - and went to grab her other arm. If he’d managed to get the arm bar on then, that might have been it.

Instead, Rosie twisted free, almost falling backwards over the sofa, and that was when the knife came out. 

Leo immediately backed up a couple of steps, out of jabbing range, suddenly very aware that his arms were on fire with pain, his head was pounding, and he wasn’t going to be able to put up much of a fight in this state. 

“What the  _ fuck _ , Rosie? She was your sister!”

“And she deserved it!” Rosie snarled, her eyes fixed on Leo’s arms. “She was the fucking golden child, always the fucking favourite with the good job and the nice flat and always got the boys.”

“So, what, you were jealous?” Leo didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You murdered her for that? For Tom fucking Blake?”

“He was the first person to care about  _ me _ !” Rosie yelled, slashing wildly with the knife; Leo circled back around the sofa, trying to keep her at a distance. “He wanted to get out of London, I wanted to get away, and the only thing stopping us was Jess.”

“So where do I fit into all this?” Leo asked; with the sofa between them, he had a second to catch his breath. 

Rosie grinned at him, her lip already starting to swell and her teeth bloody. “Scapegoat.”

She threw herself forwards over the back of the sofa. Leo jumped back, and the knife sliced through empty air instead of embedding itself between his ribs. 

She scrabbled to get up, to get back on her feet. Leo stepped to the side and slammed the side of his hand into her forearm as hard as he could. 

Rosie howled in pain and Leo pulled back enough for a second hit, this time a heavy punch to the back to keep her off-balance and knock her over. She sprawled on the floor; the knife clattered harmlessly out of her grip as she threw her hands out to break her fall. 

Leo followed her down - less in control than he might have been, but his vision was starting to go alarmingly dark around the edges - and knelt over her, leaning his weight on her arm and upper body to keep her pinned to the floor. 

She tried to fumble for the knife with her right hand, her left flailing wildly in a hopeless attempt to scratch or claw Leo. She would have had to wrench it out of joint to reach him, though; he ignored her screeching, and concentrated on staying awake. There was blood seeping through the bandages on his arms, and the fuzzy greyness at the edge of his vision seemed to grow and recede with his heartbeat. 

Now it was a waiting game.

“Leo?” Jack hammered on the door. “Leo!”

“Jack?” The voice was muffled, but it was there. “Jack, it’s okay, I’m okay, but I can’t get to the door.”

He looked across at Nikki, still on the phone to DI Fields. She covered the receiver with her hand and said urgently, “Fields won’t get here in time. You’re apprehending a suspect and interrupting a life-threatening situation, break it down!”

Jack took a couple of paces back and charged forward to slam his shoulder against the door. The frame cracked, and the door more or less crumpled. Jack barged through and called out again. 

“Leo, where are you?”

“Living room. I’ve got Rosie pinned, I can’t move.” 

Inside, with less to muffle his voice, Jack could hear the weakness and the uncertainty in his voice. There was a renewed scuffle, and a young woman swearing at the top of her lungs. Nikki followed as Jack strode through the flat into the living room; the faint, lingering tang of bleach prickled her nose. Rosie was lying on the floor, still pinned by Leo but struggling valiantly to get up. Jack knelt down next to Leo - after kicking the knife well out of Rosie’s grabbing range - and put her left arm into a rough approximation of an arm lock with perhaps slightly more pressure on the shoulder joint than was strictly necessary. She swore again, and then yelped in pain when Jack pushed her arm a little bit higher than it was meant to go. 

Leo stepped back, stood up, and then sat down heavily in an armchair. Nikki glanced over at him and realised that he was very pale, and his hands were trembling. That by itself might have just been shock, but as she looked down there was blood seeping through the bandages on his arms. His hands were sticky with it. It wasn’t clear how much he’d already lost, and she didn’t know how long he’d been holding Rosie down. 

She gave up trying to get hold of Fields or Sawyer - they’d said they were on their way, and now neither of them were answering - and dialled for an ambulance. Jack looked over at her, followed her gaze to Leo, and muttered something under his breath. It might very well have been “shit, not again”. 


	16. Chapter 16

_17:30, Tuesday 23rd October  
_

The station was heaving with the Wednesday evening rush hour crowd. Tom moved through the throng of people quickly, head down, trying to stay out of the way as much as possible. If he didn’t crash into anyone, if nobody noticed him, then they couldn’t pick him out of a line-up. He’d be just another face in the crowd, on a commuter train heading north. In the distance, he could hear the rapid-fire chatter of security communications; looking up briefly, there were hi-vis vests and police uniforms spreading out across the station. He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked a little faster. 

Platform six. Almost there. 

Platform seven. 

One more.

Then there was a heavy hand on his shoulder, and a deep voice saying, “Thomas Blake, you are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Jessica Woodthorpe, and the attempted murder of Leo Giles. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say can be given in evidence.”

_18:09_

They questioned him, of course. Fields had - well, a field day. He’d even been carrying his prescription hair-loss cream with him, just to make their lives a little less complicated at the end of the case. He’d bumped into Leo, entirely by chance, in a corridor at the police station - they’d been taking final statements from Leo after Rosie had attacked him, his arms freshly bandaged from A&E. Jack had been there too, because it hardly mattered at that point - Leo was a witness, Jack wasn’t on the clock, and they’d been clear throughout that all the work done had been kept to professional standards. Thomas wasn’t too happy about it, but he wasn’t unduly concerned. 

_20:38_

“Alright, pussyboy?”

The insult came out of nowhere. Leo turned sharply, his jaw set and hard. “Tom.”

Jack sighed. “Leo, please. Leave it.”

Tom tried for a smug smile, but the tears had left his face red and puffy; the overall effect was almost pitiful. “Got a guard dog with you tonight, then. Not brave enough to come down on your own?”

Leo looked him up and down, his eyes cold. 

“Was it worth it, in the end? Do you feel like the big man? Because you’re not. You’re pathetic.”

Tom snarled and lurched forward; one of the officers behind him gripped his arm and roughly yanked him back. Leo watched him; in the face of the wintry, dead-eyed stare, Tom looked away. 

“Choke on it.”

Jack stepped forward at that point, wrapping a protective arm around Leo’s shoulders.

“Come on.” He gently led Leo away, down the corridor and past the front desk, out into the chilly evening air. 

“What are you going to do now?” he asked quietly, facing Leo as they stood on the steps.

Leo shrugged. “I’m going to go home, have something to eat. Try to sleep. Got to ring work in the morning - again, which they’re going to love, I’m sure.” He went down the steps to the road and hailed one of the taxis parked up outside. 

“You going to be alright on your own?” Jack asked, following him down. 

Leo looked back and gave him another shrug, this time accompanied by a small smile. “I could use some company.” He reached out to Jack and gently took his hand, loosely entwining their fingers. 

Jack followed him into the back of the cab and yanked the door shut behind them. The car pulled away, disappearing into the hum of traffic and the orange glow of the streetlights. 


	17. Chapter 17

_ Three weeks later.  _

Jack watched the digital numbers tick past as the lift climbed, and picked uneasily at a loose thread on the hem of his jacket. This was daft. He knew he shouldn’t be this nervous. It was just going to someone’s flat for a takeaway and a quiet night in, right? Nothing to be worried about. 

Still. He wanted everything to go right. 

He switched the bouquet - lavender roses, after a long conversation with the hipsterish guy in the flower shop - to his non-dominant hand and took his phone out, more to have something else to fiddle with than any need to check his messages. The flower-shop guy had been very friendly, although he had very clearly pegged Jack as ‘excited about new relationship, but terrified of fucking it up’. He wasn’t wrong. 

So Jack fiddled with his phone, and fretted about whether the flowers were right, and waited as the lift kept climbing. Eventually, the numbers ticked over to the ninth floor, and the doors opened with a high-pitched digital chime. Jack glanced one last time at the text on the screen -  _ ninth floor, flat number 4. See you later! x  _ \- and stepped out of the lift, turning left down the corridor. Leo opened after the first knock; Jack almost wanted to ask if he’d been waiting. Just for a second, he was still afraid - that something would go wrong, that someone else would step out from another room, anything. 

Then he met Leo’s eyes, and the fears melted like snow. 

“Hey!” Leo wrapped him in a hug, noticing and avoiding the flowers just in time. “Come on in, I’ll get some water for those. They’re gorgeous.”

Jack followed him inside. “Nice place you’ve got here. How fast did that come through?”

Leo’s voice was slightly muffled when he answered, his head still in a kitchen cupboard searching for a vase. “About a week, all told. I moved in last Saturday, and I’ve been running around fixing all the little things you only realise you need when you haven’t got them.” He emerged triumphant, holding a vase that looked - to Jack, at least - like a large conical flask that had been stolen from a chemistry lab. Leo saw the look, and gave him a brief, self-conscious smile. 

“I know. My uncle bought it for me as a joke when I graduated. But it works pretty well to hold flowers.”

“You get lots of people buying you flowers, do you?”

“I wish.” Leo grinned, running some water into the flask. “There’s this one guy who brought me flowers, something a little bit unusual, and I’m never quite sure if he knows what they mean. You know, like flower code and that. A dozen red roses is supposed to be the height of romance, white roses for innocence, that sort of thing.”

“And lavender roses?” Jack leaned against the counter, watching Leo watch him. 

“Well… if he doesn’t know the meaning, then it’s just bringing me roses he thinks I’ll like, because he knows or got lucky that I like purple.” Leo set the vase down on the draining board, and carefully took the bouquet from Jack. 

“And if he does know what it means?” 

“Then he asked the person in the shop,” Leo said dryly, arranging the flowers so they all stood vaguely upright and tilting his head to smile at Jack. “Go on, then. I know you’re waiting to tell me.”

“Lavender roses - supposedly - speak to enchantment, fascination with someone, and traditionally, love at first sight,” Jack said, his voice soft and careful. “Red roses are overdone, if you ask me.”

Leo stepped closer, stood on tiptoe and kissed him, slow and gentle, hands loosely curled on his chest. 

“I’ve got some candles somewhere, we can do this properly if you want.”

“I’d like that.” 

Leo caught his eye and smirked. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to break out the whips and chains for your first time.”

“What makes you think it’s my first time?” Jack asked, his hands not moving from Leo’s waist.

Leo said nothing, raised his eyebrows and waited.

“Okay, yeah, but still.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this having not watched any SW pre-S17, so I wrote a character called Leo knowing nothing about the former head of the Lyell centre having the same name... oops. Similarly, any lapses/inconsistencies in canon are likely to derive from not watching anything before S17. Apologies! If you found any, let me know and I hope you enjoyed anyway :)


End file.
